To Hold Something Beautiful
by Momatu
Summary: Sequel to Stepping from Shadows. On an ordinary Friday in an ordinary town an ordinary boy met an extraordinary girl. And never since Romeo first saw Juliet did more heck break loose. This story both follows canon and takes a sharp left away from it. (The OC is a character named Gray, who is my incarnation of vampire Bella, just with her name changed.)
1. Chapter 1

I'm excited to present this first, teaser chapter of the second half of the story begun with _Stepping from Shadows._ Note the word *teaser.* The fic itself is still a work in progress. I broke my own cardinal rule and published this chapter before the fic was finished, or at least close to finished, but I had good reason. Anyone who read _Stepping from Shadows_ might remember that Gray was a suffragette during her human lifetime. This first chapter was posted the day before election day here in the U.S. I thought it was a good time to remember that not even 100 years ago, women in th U.S. did not have the right to vote and to say Thank You to all the real life women who risked everything and fought so that all of us could speak our minds. (Update 1/2020: I'm almost finished with chapter 15, and I hope to be able to post the full fic starting in the spring. I expect the whole fic will be in the low 20s for chapters. There are a few changes to canon here and there, some small, some big. A lemon or two . . . Hopefully a little drama and a little humor. If you don't want to read the first chapter until the full story is ready to post, go ahead and Follow and come back later.)

There is a prequel story to _Stepping from Shadows_ published in full called _By Just One Vote_. It shows the first time Gray lived among humans after her change and is set in Tennessee in the summer of 1920, during the final battle in the seventy year long fight for women's suffrage in America. If you're interested, I hope you'll check it out. Warning though, it's not a light read.

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A huge thank you Raum and to Patricia for all their help, advice, and their endless patience, and to everyone else who has helped this Pennsylvania girl with advice, recommendations, and information on the Olympic Peninsula.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

* * *

 _Men tell us 'tis fit that wives should submit  
To their husbands, submissively meekly,  
Tho' whatever they say their wives should obey,  
Unquestioning, stupidly, weakly;_

 _Let man if he will then bid us be still,  
And silent, a price he'll pay high for it,  
For we won't and we can't, and we don't and we shan't,  
Let us all speak our minds if we die for it! _

**"** **Let Us All Speak Our Minds"**  
A Suffragette's Song

* * *

~.~

Chapter 1

~.~

" _. . . What you object to is very different. He's not a scholar, not an artist. Doesn't paint, doesn't write poetry. If he did, you'd overlook everything else. He'd be the raging artist. He'd be allowed to behave unspeakably. Tell me something."_

" _You have more to lose. . . ."_

" _Tell me this. What kind of painter is allowed to behave more unspeakably, figurative or abstract?"_

Edward stared at the words on the page until they began to look foreign and unrecognizable. Exhaling loudly, he closed the book and pushed it aside.

Outside, the sun shone brightly, as if to mock him. A sunny weekend was once the highlight of the week, if not the month. It was hard to believe, but that was not so very long ago. It felt like a lifetime. Now, every morning when he woke up, there was a minute or two before he was fully awake, before he remembered that his reality had been forever changed. But then it all came back to him.

Grace was a vampire. A real life, one-hundred-and-eleven-year-old vampire. And Jake turned into a freaking massive wolf. Elbows on his desk, Edward pressed his fingertips against his eyes. His girlfriend and his best friend were literally mortal enemies.

Grace was away with her family. Hunting. He shuddered. It was what she had to do, he knew, but the thought still made him gag. When the sun would force them out of sight for any length of time, she'd explained, they traveled farther. They might go as far as eastern Montana, southern Oregon and Idaho, or like this time, north, up into Canada, even as far as Alaska. They'd left Friday and were due back sometime during the night. Without her, it had been a very long couple of days.

Edward picked up his phone and pulled up the poem Grace had sent him before she'd left.

 _Blue skies do not a prison make,  
Nor sunny days a cage:  
If I have freedom in my love,  
And in my soul am free,  
Angels alone, that soar above,  
Enjoy such liberty. _

He grinned, but then sighed. There were other texts on his phone. Texts from Jake. He'd read them, but he hadn't responded. Jake had said things about Grace that Edward didn't think he could forgive.

And his father . . . When Edward had come home that night, after running out of the house before Jake and Billy arrived, his father's face had gone purple, a vein bulging in his forehead when he saw that Grace was with him. Edward had thought he was going to have an aneurysm. His father had assumed that once he knew what she was, he wouldn't want Grace anywhere near him. But what she was didn't matter, not to him. She was more than her diet. He knew her, who she really was, and he trusted her. But his father refused to listen to reason. He was convinced she was plotting to snatch him away and change him. He wouldn't allow her in the house, and Edward might as well be under house arrest for the third-degree he got when he went out, in case he was planning to sneak away to meet her. He was surprised his father hadn't outright forbidden him from ever leaving the house again accept for school. Hell, Edward was surprised he hadn't signed him up for cyber school so he couldn't even see her there, or gone ahead and packed them up and moved them to the sunniest place he could find to keep Grace and him apart.

Then there was Grace's family. They had their own concerns because of Grace and his relationship. Edward squirmed in his seat. Knowing Grace was a vampire was entirely different from knowing her family were too. Being in school together, he saw Alice and Jasper every day the weather permitted. He'd always felt a weird vibe from them, and now that he knew why, he felt it all the stronger. The way Jasper looked at him, it felt like he was issuing a challenge, like he was going all Alpha Male. Alice looked more like she was trying to decide how she felt. Remembering back to that day out fishing at the lake, when Grace had found him hanging out with everyone, they had seemed to feel differently then. Encouraging. It had been the two of them who had opened the door to Grace's going with him to the Hoh, Edward remembered, and Jasper had even been the one to start it. Then, Alice had made the suggestion that Grace might go with him. What had changed? What had changed to put them off now?

Edward put his head in his hands. All he wanted was to be with the most amazing and most beautiful girl he'd ever met, who for some reason wanted to be with him too. It shouldn't be this hard.

Sitting back, he rapped his knuckles against the desk and stared out the window. He felt caged. The trees across the yard were vibrantly green, and they called to him.

With his playlist ready and his headphones in his hand, he left his room, mentally visualizing his route, but as he approached the kitchen, his father's voice, though hushed, carried to him.

". . . I know that, Billy." A pause. "Yeah, I know that, too." Another pause, then an exasperated, "Because he's almost eighteen, and they have more money than God!"

Edward's steps slowed, and his temper flared. Maybe if it wasn't for Billy's interference, his father might be able to see Grace as she really was, rather than the monster Billy and all of them painted her as.

He waited till his father got off the phone, then slowly entered the kitchen, bracing for an argument.

"I'm going for a run."

His father looked at him, then quickly away. He was unloading the dishwasher one-handed.

Thoughts of Grace momentarily pushed aside, Edward worried his lip as he watched his father. While the bullet had missed the bone and the major blood vessels, it had done a hell of a lot of damage to the soft tissue. It mangled sensory and motor nerves, and had left him both with pain and numbness and what his father described as constant pins-and-needles. Like ants were crawling under his skin. He was seeing a physical therapist twice a week, but no one knew how full his recover might be. Or might not be.

"I got that." Edward stepped forward and set his phone and earbuds on the table. He'd been making an effort to do more around the house without being told or asked, but he could do more.

His father stepped back with heavy sigh, and Edward felt his spine stiffen at the sound, waiting.

"How many miles today?" his father asked.

"Eight."

"Good weather for a run."

Edward's jaw clenched. He didn't respond as he gathered the silverware. He was sure Billy'd know Grace and her family were away, and that he'd have passed it along to his father. Otherwise, his father'd have grilled him about where exactly was he going on his run and how long would he be. He glanced at his father from the corner of his eye. He looked sheepish, fidgety. It made Edward's apprehension grow.

"Got plans for later?"

"Not really."

"Maybe you'n Jake—"

"I don't think so."

"What about Mike or Tyler or any of the other guys?"

Edward hummed noncommittally.

"Get out of the house. Do something."

"I am getting out of the house. I'm going for a run."

"That's not what I meant. When was the last time you saw your friends?"

Edward put the last of the dishes away and closed the cabinet. He could hear the impatience creeping into his father's voice, and he could feel his own rise as well.

"I see them every day at school."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Get hold of some of the guys and meet up somewhere. Hang out with your friends."

Edward turned on his father and folded his arms.

"Maybe I could text Jake and see if he got the bike I wrecked fixed back up."

Anger flared in his father's eyes, but other emotions swirled around it. Fear. Resentment. Edward regretted bringing the bikes up, but at the same time he didn't. It wasn't fair. Grace and her family had done nothing to deserve the way his father and their friends out on the reservation treated them. For fuck's sake, just the opposite. But Jake and Billy, they could do no wrong. His father hated motorcycles, but Edward had never heard him say a word about the bikes. The road rash from when he'd skimmed across the pavement had healed up pretty quickly, but he'd only just gotten the splint off his fingers.

"That isn't funny."

"It wasn't a joke. Anything, so long as I'm nowhere near Grace, right? 'Cuz, God forbid, I spend time with the girl who saved Joe Crowley's life."

His father flinched and looked away.

"Whatever. I'm going for a run."

~.~

The door slammed as Edward left the house, and Charlie cursed to the empty room. He had to get through to Edward somehow, but fuck if he knew how. He wouldn't listen to reason. Charlie might be almost forty, but he wasn't so old he didn't remember how stupid a girl could make a guy act at Edward's age. Hell, even at Charlie's age. That girl only wanted one thing from his son—his life. Everything she'd done, everything any of them had done, had been nothing but biding their time.

Before that girl and the rest of them had come, Edward had had a crush on a perfectly nice girl. No parent relished the idea of what their seventeen-year-old son would get up to with a girl, but with Leah Clearwater, the worst Charlie'd have had to worry about would've been diapers. If only. . . .

Charlie opened the fridge and reached for a beer. It wasn't often he made the mistake of reaching for something with his right hand anymore, but this time he did, and a burning pain shot down his arm. His hand closed around the can, but his fingers couldn't grip it. Left-handed, he cracked it open and downed it.

~.~

Nearing the end of his run, Edward's feet pounded the ground, and the music pounded his ears. Even after almost seven miles, the fight with his father still had him bristling. Before, a good hard run had always centered him, cleared his mind. He could leave everything else go for a little while and just focus on the run, but no more. His legs burned, but his temper burned stronger. Songs bled one into the next, until out of nowhere, someone ran up next to him, close enough to brush arms. Startled and swearing under his breath, he tripped over his own feet, but before he could hit the ground, cold hands caught him.

"Hi," Grace said, her musical voice rich with amusement.

"You're here!"

Just like that, his anger and resentment were forgotten. Seeing Grace drove them away. Thrilled to see her sooner than he'd expected, Edward reached for her.

"I hurried back ahead of the others," she said. "I missed you."

He played with her hair, sliding his fingers through the strands before tucking it behind her ears and kissing her.

"I missed you, too."

"Eight today, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, come on, then," she said, turning to face him and jogging backwards. "Let's see how fast you are."

"You know, it's really weird when you do that."

o0o

* * *

0o0

"Out of everything you've ever done, tell me what was the one most incredible thing."

After finishing his eight miles together, they were walking through the woods not far from his house, holding hands and talking, trying to snatch as much time together as they could before his father missed him. As always, Edward was lost in her.

She looked at him in surprise. "I met you," she said, as if it should've been obvious.

He laughed. "No, seriously." Grace had lived through the entire twentieth century. Everything she'd experienced . . . it boggled his mind.

"Meeting you."

Edward rolled his eyes.

"If you were to ask me to name the most amazing ten or twenty or one hundred things I've ever done," Grace looked down at their joined hands, "everyone of them would involve you."

Her voice held nothing but sincerity, and Edward's chest felt warm.

"Before that, then."

Her surprise only grew at the question.

"You have to ask? Edward—I was a suffragette. Apart from meeting you, the most incredible thing I've ever done was vote."

Lost in her memories, her face and voice went dreamy.

"You can't understand what it was like. You've never been told that because of your sex, you weren't entitled to have your own opinions, let alone to express them. A woman was told what her opinions were to be—first by her father, then later, by her husband. To walk into that polling place beside Carlisle that first time and cast my own vote, for my vote to count equally to his. Knowing that Trudy and Sybbie, and women all across America, were doing the very same thing . . . There are no words."

Edward tried to imagine it. He couldn't.

She touched the base of her throat. "I wore my mother's brooch." She came back to the present with a smile that held a range of emotions. "I was jubilant, but it was bittersweet. I missed her so very much. I'd have given anything for her to be there."

They walked on.

"We were in Nashville, Carlisle and I, when they ratified the 19th Amendment, giving women the right to vote," she said. "I think, if I had lived, I should have liked to run for office some day."

Edward could see that.

"I saw Madame Curie speak at Vassar in 1921," she said, changing the subject. "That was . . ." Words failed her, but her face showed him what she couldn't articulate. She was radiant.

Edward scratched the back of his neck. _Madame Curie_. Grace had seen Madame Curie speak over ninety years ago. At Vassar. Where she'd earned a degree in Greek and Latin.

He had a B+ in Biology II.

"Imagine a lifetime's worth of World Series, Super Bowls, and NBA Championships, all rolled into one. She was my idol," Grace said. "And Amelia Earhart. I adored her. I was inconsolable when she went missing. We were living in Forks at the time, actually."

Grace clasped her hands together and held them under her chin, grinning and arching an eyebrow.

"And slacks."

Not understanding, Edward's eyebrows drew together, making Grace laugh, delighted.

"Pants."

"Pants?"

"Pants. The very first pair of pants I ever wore were navy blue with a white pinstripe, and came up to here." Seductively, she indicated a spot just below her ribs. "And they had four white buttons down here." She touched her hip bone. "They had very wide legs, and I wore them with a smart, white blouse. And I had a light khaki colored pair with a belt and pleats that I wore with a navy blue blouse, very Katharine Hepburn."

Her playfulness turned subdued, and she twisted her fingers together. "Wearing pants being a memorable occasion must sound silly to you."

"It doesn't sound silly."

"In the world I was born into, more than just the roles of the sexes were carved in stone. What they wore was as well. A woman could be arrested for wearing trousers in public. It was seen as a perversion." In a mocking, resentful manner, she added, "Freud called it penis envy, a sure sign of lesbianism.

"For all my progressive ideals, Rosalie was the first of us to wear trousers." Her voice fading away and her eyes falling, she said, "She wore them exclusively for decades. It was the sixties before she wore a dress again."

Edward hadn't met Rosalie yet. Grace didn't mention her often, but when she did, everything about her changed. There was something there, something between them, but he didn't know what that something was.

"Where did you go after you left Forks?"

"London. It was World War II. They needed doctors badly, and Carlisle is originally from London."

London. From Forks, to London.

"And you had to start all over again." He couldn't imagine that either. "New lives. New names."

"We used the last name Atchison that time. That one was for me. Amelia Earhart was born in Atchison, Kansas.

"I got to work with injured soldiers. I presented myself as older. I got a lot of double looks, but the need was great enough that they didn't ask questions. I was there and I knew what I was doing, and that was enough. I was glad to be able to be of use. I don't get to be often."

Edward could argue that, but he didn't. "You're sort of amazing." It was hard to imagine why she'd ever find any reason to smile at a seventeen-year-old kid from the middle of nowhere, who'd never done anything particularly interesting, the way she smiled at him.

"I think you're sort of amazing, too."

Edward couldn't think why, and he scoffed.

"You don't believe me." Grace folded her arms in front of herself. "The day of the robbery, with a gun pointed at us, you tried to shield me. You were so brave."

At the reminder of that day, a cold shiver ran through him.

"I wanted to tear their throats out," she said, her voice going flat.

Edward stepped forward and folded his arms around her. "Don't think about it. It's over."

Her hands gripping his shirt at his sides, her forehead pressed to his chest, she took two deep breaths. "When I heard him decide to pull the trigger, it was all I could do to not jump over the counter." She paused, and Edward held her tighter. "He died a much easier death than he would have had I gotten my hands on him."

Edward stroked her hair.

She laughed derisively. "Now, see? I'm confessing to intending to kill someone in cold blood, and you're consoling me."

"Someone who was pointing a gun as us." Edward thought she got a bye for that.

"Your father ordered me to stay out of it," she said resentfully after a moment's pause. "He said we'd made a treaty with the Quileute, and he expected me to honor it.

"The one who got away, Tanya and I went after him that night. While you were with the Blacks."

Edward braced himself for whatever he was about to hear. The one who'd gotten away had overdosed. Grace hadn't killed him. But even if she had, he knew he wouldn't let go.

"We traced him to Seattle. We told ourselves we would find him and let the authorities have him, but he was already dead by the time we found him. I admit, I was never more glad for anything. It was a relief. Letting him live would've been the hardest thing either of us had ever done. Much as we wanted to earn your father's good opinion, I'm not certain we'd have been able to walk away."

They stood together, in each other's arms. Occasionally, the sun's rays reached them, and Grace's skin shimmered. Edward stroked his fingers along her cheek.

"Tanya went with you?"

Grace's shoulders stiffened, then sagged as she turned her head away.

"She's very fond of your father."

Edward remembered how much she'd been around the house after the robbery, but he hadn't seen her since that day out on the rez. He could only guess his father had told her what he'd expected Edward to tell Grace.

"How is she?"

Grace kept her face averted and dropped her eyes. "She misses him."

"Maybe if—"

"No. He made it perfectly clear he wanted her to stay away from him. She will respect his wishes."

Grace rubbed her hands together.

"That day, when you drove out to the house to confront me," she said. "I watched you drive up, but when you stayed in your truck, I lowered my eyes. I thought you'd changed your mind, that you were going to drive away. I couldn't look. I couldn't bear to think that your turning and driving away from me would be the last time I ever saw you. I thought, _'This is it. The mirror has cracked from side to side. The curse has come upon me.'_ But if you had told me to stay away from you—"

Edward touched her jaw, turning her face toward him. "I'll never want you to stay away from me."

She looked at him with sad, doubtful eyes.

"I want to be with you," he said.

"One day, you might feel differently. Should that day come, should your feeling change—"

"They won't."

He kissed her. It started slowly, long, languid kisses stretching on, their lips separating only for a quickly drawn breath before finding each other again. Edward loved the taste of Grace's breath in his mouth. He loved the feeling of her in his arms, her body pressed against his.

Hands roamed, sliding over the other, finding their way under shirts, until Grace's hand slid up his chest, making him flinch involuntarily at the contact of her cold skin against his, and she pulled away. Not letting her, Edward moved with her.

"You're cold."

"I don't care."

He pushed her hair off her shoulders and let his fingers trail along her jaw and down her neck. His eyes followed where his hand went. The sun shone down on them, and her skin glistened, smooth and even. He was about to ask what was up with the sparkling thing when something caught his eye. There was a spot on the side of her neck where the otherwise flawless radiance of her skin was marred by curved lines, like tracks sunken into freshly fallen snow, where the light shimmered differently. Edward traced his finger over one of the curves, and Grace's eyes went wide. He looked at her questioningly, but before he could ask, he realized what the curved lines were.

Bite scars.

Unlike the two, small pinpricks left by Hollywood vampires, the scars on Grace's neck were the size and shape of human bite marks.

"You can see them?"

"In the sunlight. That's where Carlisle—?"

She shook her head and touched similar but much fainter curved lines just above her collarbone. Then, silently, she pushed her sleeves up and held out her arms. Matching scars marred the even shimmer on her wrists and the inside of her elbows.

"The transformation takes three days," she said clinically. "I didn't have three days. I probably didn't have three hours. Carlisle did what he had to do to get as much of his venom into my bloodstream as he could as quickly as possible."

Edward winced. "Did it hurt?" he asked before he could stop himself. He felt like an idiot. What kind of question was that to ask? Of course it had hurt.

She hesitated before answering. "I was barely conscious for the actual bites. But the transformation . . . It felt like I was being burned alive. There's no physical pain on earth comparable." She fell silent and stood perfectly still for several moments before coming back to herself with a start. "Carlisle doesn't often think about about that day but when he does, seeing myself in his memory, obviously dying. Watching as the cyanosis grew darker as the final minutes of my human life ticked away. Hearing his internal struggle over what to do. It's surreal. I know it's me in that bed, but it feels like looking at a stranger."

She drew her hands to her chest, one folded over the other, and Edward pulled her into his arms.

"How—" he cleared his throat. How did she get the other two scars? Why were they so much more prominent?

Before he could ask, she turned her head in the direction of the house as if someone had called her name. From her profile, Edward saw the corners of her eyes droop, and she looked at the ground. He fidgeted, both wondering what she'd heard and not wanting to know.

She stepped back and twisted her fingers together.

"You and your father have been arguing. Because of me."

Edward rubbed his forehead. He wished he could deny it, or at least downplay it.

"I can't pretend to be surprised. I could hardly have hoped otherwise, but I'm selfish enough that I've been trying very hard to not think about it." She closed her eyes. "I don't want you fighting with your father over me."

"Grace—"

"Please, Edward, don't argue with your father. Especially not because of me."

"I can't just—"

"You don't understand." Grace covered her face. "That last year," she lowered her hands and shook her head, "I argued with my parents daily. What I put them through . . . I'll never see them again, and I have to go on living each day knowing how much time with them I wasted. I'll never get back all those hours I lost arguing with them. I didn't know how little time we had left together. Had I, I'd have done so much differently, but none of us know what's coming. You could have fifty years with your father—and I pray you do—but you also might not. He's only thirty-nine. But my mother was only forty, and my father forty-four. Don't waste time arguing, Edward, please. You'll never get that time back again."

Edward remembered the day of the robbery, hearing the words "officer down."

"Your father loves you so very much. He genuinely believes we intend to change you regardless of what we say and what you wish, and he's terrified," she said. "His fears are unfounded, but they aren't unreasonable. He and your friends have very valid reasons for believing as they do. They are drawing their beliefs from a long history with my kind."

Frustrated, he kicked at the ground.

"He just won't listen."

"Scared people rarely will, and the more afraid they are, the less likely it is that they will. Please, Edward. For me? No amount of fighting will make him have a change of heart. We really are the exception. They have no real reason to trust our word, and experience has given them every reason to disbelieve it."

"They know you don't . . . you know, go after people."

"This is different."

Frustrated, he exhaled loudly. His instincts told him to defend her, but for her, he agreed.

"His shoulder doesn't seem to be getting any better," he said.

"It hasn't been very long. It needs time. Nerve damage can take months to heal."

"I know. That's what the doctor said. It's just—it feels like it's been months already. It will—it will heal though, right?"

"I wish I could promise you it will heal fully, but I can't."

"Yeah, the doctor said that, too."

"I do understand how difficult waiting is when you're worried."

"He never . . . He never called that doctor. The one out in Port Angeles."

"The psychiatrist."

"Yeah." Edward rubbed his arms. "Do you think he should?"

"I think he needs to talk to someone about what happened, yes. But he needs to be ready. It's not like dealing with a cut that can be stitched up or a bone that can be set. And it needs to the be right someone for him. Someone he feels comfortable with."

Frustration suddenly getting the better of him, Edward swore.

"I'm sorry," he said.

One corner of Grace's mouth twitched, but she didn't smile.

"I'm not that easily offended."

"Everything is just so God damn complicated."

"And I don't make it any easier."

"I didn't mean—"

"It would be easier for you to be with a different girl, a human girl," she said. "Your father, your friends, they'd all be so happy."

Edward wished she wouldn't talk like that, but he couldn't deny it was true. And it wasn't just his father and their friends. Grace's being with him made her family uneasy, too. For her family's part, they'd probably all be much happier were she to find someone like them.

"It's not easy for you either, being with me."

"I don't want to be with anyone else," she said.

"Well, neither do I."

She stepped closer to him, looking up at him through her lashes. "Then, for as long as you want me, a pack of wild wolves couldn't drag me away."

~.~

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~.~

There you have chapter 1! Chapter 2 however . . . will be a while. Follow the fic to get an alert when the full fic is being posted. If you'd like a teaser for chapter 2 in the meantime, go ahead and send me a review—tell me you voted, and get a longer teaser!

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The title, To Hold Something Beautiful, was inspired by a line from _Submarine_ by Joe Dunthorne.

"I took a photo of us, mid-embrace. When I am old and alone I will remember that I once held something truly beautiful."

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" _. . . What you object to is very different. He's not a scholar, not an artist. Doesn't paint, doesn't write poetry. If he did, you'd overlook everything else. He'd be the raging artist. He'd be allowed to behave unspeakably. Tell me something."_

" _You have more to lose. . . ."_

" _Tell me this. What kind of painter is allowed to behave more unspeakably, figurative or abstract?"_

 _Falling Man_ , Don DeLillo

I've tried to read this book three or four times, but I just can't get into it.

This is the passage Edward mentioned briefly to Gray the first time he visited the Cullen house, the day they went the to Hoh.

.

Stone walls do not a prison make,  
Nor iron bars a cage;  
Minds innocent and quiet take  
That for an hermitage;  
If I have freedom in my love,  
And in my soul am free;  
Angels alone, that sore above,  
Enjoy such Liberty.

 _To Althea, from Prison_

Richard Lovelace, 1642

(Altered to fit Grace's circumstances)

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Amelia Earhart disappeared July 2, 1937 (aged 39)

.

The mirror has cracked from side to side. The curse has come upon me.

From _The Lady of Shallot_ , Alfred, Lord Tennyson


	2. Chapter 2

I'm super excited to finally begin posting the second half of the story begun with _Stepping from Shadows._ The fic itself is still a work in progress, but it's getting there. As of today, 4/1/2020, I'm almost 2,000 words into chapter 17. I broke my own cardinal rule and published the first chapter before the fic was finished, or at least close to finished, but I had good reason. Anyone who read _Stepping from Shadows_ might remember that Gray, my OC incarnation of vampire Bella, was a suffragette during her human lifetime. This first chapter was posted the day before the midterm election day here in the U.S. I thought it was a good time to remember that not even 100 years ago, women in the U.S. did not have the right to vote and to say Thank You to all the real life women who risked everything and fought so that all of us could speak our minds. I expect the whole fic will be in the low 20s for chapters. I'm hoping to have a posting schedule of twice a month, on the 1st and 15th, ish. There are a few changes to canon here and there, some small, some big. A lemon or two . . . Hopefully a little drama and a little humor.

A huge thank you Raum and to Patricia for all their help, advice, and their endless patience, and to everyone else who has helped this Pennsylvania girl with advice, recommendations, and information on the Olympic Peninsula.

This story is set in 2012.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

And now, finally, on with the story. . . .

* * *

Chapter 2

Monday brought cloudy skies and an on-again, off-again drizzle. And the forecast was for much of the same for the rest of the week. Looking out at the gray sky stretching out above them, Edward felt a thrill of excitement run through him. As he left his room, he felt like he was walking on air.

In the kitchen, his father sat half hidden behind the newspaper, but Edward could feel his eyes on him as he crossed the room and could hear agitation in the way he rustled the pages.

"You look happy for a Monday."

"Do I?"

As Edward put bread in the toaster, his eyes fell on a small rubber ball his father had been given by his physical therapist. The cold splash of reality knocked him back to the ground. Three times a day, his father was supposed to work with the ball, squeezing it to increase the strength in his hand.

With a side glance at his father, Edward thought about the promise he'd made to Grace, and he remembered the intensity of the relief he'd felt when his father had charged into Newton's that day. He'd looked like a superhero to Edward. Ten feet tall and invincible, made of steel. He remembered how it had felt to hug him, how it had felt for his father to hold him tight. It was like he'd been able to breathe again. Almost an adult or not, once he'd seen his father, it was all going to be okay.

Most clearly, though, he remembered the sickening feeling of the blood soaked, shredded fabric of his father's uniform where the bullet had exited his shoulder. Standing in their kitchen, he looked down at his hand. He could still see his father's blood on his palm.

The toaster popped, and Edward jumped.

"Okay," his father said. It was a statement, not a question. He was okay.

Edward nodded. When he sat down at the table, he thought about the bone-chilling dread he'd felt when he'd heard the words " _officer down_ " and how he'd fought against Grace to get up. She'd promised him it wasn't his father. She'd known, of course, but he'd had no idea of that then.

"Okay?" his father asked. A question that time.

"Yeah. Sometimes, I just. . . ."

"Yeah. Yeah, same here."

"How's the physical therapy?"

His father curled his fingers into a loose fist. "Like I said, good as new by buck season."

Glad to hear that, Edward felt tension ease as he spread peanut butter on his toast. He thought about asking about the psychiatrist that had been recommended to his father, but he didn't. Grace had said it needed to be in his father's time. No one else's. They sat quietly as he ate. Not easily, but maybe a little bit more easily than they had been since that day on the res, and Edward found himself clinging to it, afraid of something breaking it.

His father exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. He folded up the paper and leaned forward, elbow on the table.

"Got an eighty on a trig test," Edward said.

His father's eye brows rose. "Well, that's good."

Any other subject, and an eighty would never be called good, but math had always been his weakness.

"Yeah. Grace's really good at it." He'd spoken without thinking, and Edward tensed as he glanced at his father from the corner of his eye. His expression had changed, closed off. "She really helped me a lot," he said in an undertone, eyes on his plate.

"Has she?" his father asked sharply before getting up and crossing the room. Just like that, a chasm had opened up between them, and Edward sagged in his chair.

"Dad, I. . . ."

His father looked at him and waited, but Edward didn't know what to say. He'd said it all already. Everyday, his father looked older and more tired than he had the day before. His face had never been wrinkled before, but now there were lines around his eyes. He was unshaven, and a scattering of silver hairs along his jaw stood in stark contrast among the dark.

His father picked up a dish towel only to toss it back down a moment later.

"I don't want to argue with you anymore," Edward said.

"You can't trust them. I know you think you can, but you can't. They only think about themselves, what they want. She's not gonna care if you say you don't want—"

"Tanya cares about what you want."

The effect of his words on his father was instant and absolute. He couldn't have frozen anymore stiffly had he literally been turned to stone.

"Grace said she misses you," Edward said.

His father scoffed but didn't otherwise respond.

"She and Tanya, she said they went after the guy who got away that day. She said you told her you expected her to honor the treaty they'd made with the Quileute." Grace had also said she wasn't sure she'd have been able to let the fucker live, but Edward left that bit out. "When they lived here before, when they made that treaty with Jake's great grandfather, when they left, they went to London. It was World War II. She worked with wounded soldiers. Any one of those men could've been Uncle Charlie."

His father's posture shifted, but didn't relax. Edward couldn't remember when he'd learned about his great uncle. It was just something he'd always known, his great uncle who'd been killed in WWII and was buried in Arlington.

There was so much more Edward wanted to tell his father about Grace. He wanted him to see the amazing girl he did. He wanted to say, again, that Grace wasn't the monster he thought she was, that she was amazing and brilliant and funny, but his father hadn't listened any of the other times he'd argued just that. Why should now be any different?

*.*

It was weird, sitting in Mr. Varner's old classroom. Mrs. Varner was putting the house up for sale and moving away with her boys, back to wherever it was she was from. Edward didn't know why, he'd never even liked Mr. Varner, but he found the sight of the For Sale sign in the front lawn depressing.

Grace sat next to him, and he glanced over at her. Her eyes were on him, and she tilted her head to one side. Edward shook his head.

When the bell rang, they made their way out of the room, their hands automatically reaching out for each other. Other kids still stared at them, he knew, but not as many now. The novelty was wearing off.

Grace tugged on his hand.

"You looked very pensive just now."

"It was nothing. I was just thinking about the Varners."

The last class before lunch was gym, one of the classes Grace and he shared with both Jasper and Alice, and they met up in the hallway.

Jasper and Alice.

Grace's thumb stroked the back of Edward's hand, and she walked closer to him, close enough that their arms pressed together from shoulder to joined hands. Edward could feel Jasper's eyes on him, but when he glanced over, he was looking straight ahead.

At the locker room door, Grace gave him a quick kiss. "See you soon." Before she and Alice left them for the girls' lockers, Edward saw her shift her eyes to Jasper, giving him a harder look than he'd ever seen pass between them before. Not knowing what she'd heard in his mind to cause that look made Edward even more uncomfortable, and he inched farther away from Jasper.

The room wasn't big, but Jasper had a whole section of lockers on the other side of the room to himself. The rest of the guys were clustered together, subconsciously seeking the false sense of safety numbers gave them. They were laughing, busting on one of their friends who was going to ask a girl to prom that afternoon, when Edward got dragged into it.

"Least Swan doesn't have to worry about getting a date, huh?" Tyler asked, giving him a shove. "You ever gonna tell us how you landed a girl that looks like that? I mean, fuck, man!"

Edward bristled, and he glanced across the room toward Jasper. Though they were keeping their voices low, Edward was sure Jasper'd heard that, although nothing about him gave it away. That was part of what made Jasper so unnerving. Nothing about him gave away what he was thinking or feeling, but when he turned his eyes on you, the intensity of his stare could made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. And he'd know it. As Grace had said, he was empathic. He knew exactly how he made you feel.

The guys continued to needle him.

"She is hot as fucking hell."

"Seriously, dude. You are one lucky fucker."

Edward's teeth clenched. Jasper wasn't the only one who could hear what the guys were saying. Grace would be able to as well.

"Watch it," Mike warned when their voices rose as they laughed. "Her cousin's over there."

Edward expected that would be the end of it, but it went on, though the voices dropped even lower than they'd started.

"Come on, spill. How far'd you get?"

"Watch your mouth," Edward said, standing up and drawing himself up to his full six-foot-two.

"Ooh, testy."

Guys laughed.

"Must've struck out."

"Swing and a miss."

When one of the guys said the word tease, Edward saw red. He grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the locker.

Immediately, a sense of calm washed over him so strongly, he felt drugged, and he staggered backward, his arms falling limp. Jasper was at his side, his hand on Edward's shoulder, gently but firmly pushing him back. The other guys looked drunk, their eyes unfocused. Blinking, they came back to themselves, if a bit dazed and confused looking, and they fled the locker room, tripping over each other as they went.

Grace had said Jasper didn't just feel other people's emotions, but he could influence them as well, and Edward realized that was what they'd all just experienced. His temper flared. He didn't want anyone messing around with his head and what he felt.

"You want to tell me what that was all about?" Jasper asked coldly.

"You heard them."

"I did." Jasper's calm, cool demeanor ticked Edward off further.

"You heard what they called her."

"It doesn't matter."

"The fuck it doesn't—"

"Nothing anyone says about us matters—and believe me, we get talked about a lot and worse than that. You think I didn't want to shut them up? We can't afford to react because reacting leads to more talking, and that can lead to asking questions. You want to be with Gray? Learn to ignore what people say. We can't afford any attention drawn to ourselves. Gray can't afford it."

"So, I'm just supposed to ignore it when someone insults her?"

"No. Underreacting stands out just as much as overreacting. Humans have expectations of behavior, established norms. Stick within them. Have you ever shoved someone against a row of lockers before? No? Then you do not do it now."

Edward stewed like a child being reprimanded, but he knew Jasper was right. "Did she hear them, do you think?" He could handle being told off by Jasper, as long as Grace hadn't heard what they'd called her.

"It's more likely she's hearing about it now. We don't hang on every word said within a hundred yards, but we do keep an ear out for our names."

"And right now, they're all thinking about what just happened."

"Exactly."

"You don't like me being with Grace, do you?"

"I don't like situations I can't plan exit strategies for." A little more friendly, he added, "Nothing personal." Jasper paused, and his face relaxed, something almost like a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I'm not going to bite you, you know."

"Thanks for that."

Jasper tipped his head. "Not that I haven't considered it."

Edward paled, and Jasper grinned more widely, showing off just a sliver of white teeth. Jasper studied him, and Edward resisted the urge to squirm—or to book it.

"You've got a backbone," Jasper said. He folded his arms, the muscles obvious and flexed. "Now, at the risk of sounding like an old-fashioned older brother, what are your intentions toward my sister?"

Edward choked. Jasper didn't only know what he made Edward feel, he knew what Grace made him feel.

"My what?"

Jasper laughed, something Edward had never seen before and felt very out of place. "I don't mean those sort of intentions. Humans, especially at your age, don't think much beyond the next few years at the most. We don't have the luxury. What do you plan to do after high school?"

"Um, college?"

"Then what?"

"Get a job?"

"Where?"

"I don't know. Wherever I can find one? I mean, Olympic National Park would be great, but—"

"And Gray will do what? Enroll in high school here in Forks again?"

Edward's shoulder fell.

"Hadn't thought that far out?"

Sitting back down on the bench, Edward shook his head.

"We have," Jasper said.

"Yeah. I get that."

"It isn't that I don't like your being with Gray. Were you not human, no one would be happier than I."

Edward slumped "But I am human."

Jasper dipped his head. "And humans are notoriously capricious. You genuinely care about her. I know that. You want to be with her, and you believe you always will. But you're seventeen. When you're twenty-two and can't take a job close to your father because Gray needs to move a thousand miles away to avoid exposure, what then? Say you chose her. Seven or eight years later, you have to uproot yourself and do it all over again. And then again. And again. Will you still want to be with her then? You'll never be able to have a family. We can't have children. You might not think that matters at seventeen, but what about at thirty-five? You'll never be able to settle anywhere. You'll have to create and abandon lives over and over. You won't even be able to keep in touch with anyone. Would you give all that up, just to be with her? You may think you will, but if you do, one day, you might regret it. You might decide it was too much to give up. Then what?"

"That's what she meant." Elbows on his knees, Edward ran his hand over his face. "She said that one day I might feel differently, and if that happened, she said she'd respect my wishes."

"She would."

If Jasper had these concerns, why did he ever encourage Grace to go to the Hoh with him that day?

No sooner had Edward asked himself the question than he answered it. Her family had expected her to turn him, but now that she'd promised him she wouldn't—

How much grief was she getting because of that promise? Grace had asked him—begged him—not to fight with his father over her, and he'd agreed. He'd known her family was uncomfortable with their relationship, but it had never occurred to him that they would be arguing with her over him as much as his father and he had been arguing over her.

He should have, he realized now.

God, could this get any more complicated?

"Times up," Jasper said. "Coach Clapp has mustered up the nerve to come and look for us." When Edward stood up, Jasper added, "Apart from Alice, there's no one more dear to me than Gray. I don't want to see her hurt."

"I'd never hurt her."

"Yes, you will. One day, one way or another, you will."

Edward bristled. He squared his shoulders and drew a breath, ready to argue, but the arrival of Coach Clapp telling them to get their butts out there cut him off. The teacher looked suspiciously between them, but Edward knew the questions he'd be asking any other two students, he wouldn't them.

"Sorry, Coach," Jasper said lightly. "My fault."

Edward followed him out of the room, his eyes boring into the back of Jasper's head. As they passed the teacher, he put a hand on Edward's shoulder, stopping him.

"Everything okay, Edward?"

"Just fine, sir," he lied.

The teacher held him there for a moment, but nodded. He didn't believe him, Edward was sure, but he looked relieved not to have to deal with whatever Edward wasn't telling him.

Across the gym, Alice stood beside Grace, talking intently and being ignored. What was Alice trying to persuade her? The expression on Grace's face was tight and hard, and her eyes were locked on Jasper.

*.*

Charlie set his jaw and counted to three in his head. On three, he closed his fingers around the gear shift as best he could, and with a grunt, he put the car in park.

He sat back heavily. That wasn't so bad. The shoulder was getting better, he lied to himself.

Inside the Thriftway, he could rest his right hand on the cart but push with his left. To anyone who saw him, nothing would look any different than normal. But to him . . . Charlie looked at his hands and flexed and curled his fingers—those on his left hand gripping the cart white knuckled, those on his right could barely managed the strength to not slip off.

Midday during the workweek was the best time to get the shopping done. Hardly anyone was around. He avoided the busier times and all the inevitable questions about how he was doing, but more importantly, he avoided the possibility of running into one of the Cheneys. Charlie's insides clenched. The thought of having to face Chris Cheney's parents made him feeling like puking.

Making his way through the store as quickly as he could, he picked out things he could make easily. He'd always been a simple, basic cook, but he'd gotten by. There'd always been frozen lasagnas and those frozen pasta and chicken dinners in the blue bag, there were just more of them now. But he could still throw a roast and vegetables into the crock pot and make Edward a good meal.

Edward.

Charlie's breath caught in his throat. His heart ached, and he pressed his hand to his chest.

Edward. God, if anything happened to him—if that girl and the rest of them did anything to him—

Clearing his throat, Charlie made himself move. He was not going to let himself break down in the middle of the grocery store, but pushing his cart toward the beer section, he saw a couple of Vitamin Rs in his future when he got home.

Another shopper came out of their aisle and knocked into him, and he hissed through clenched teeth as the jolt sent a shock of sharp pain from his shoulder down his arm. The pain made him nauseous and his legs weak.

"Oh!" the woman said. "Charlie, I'm so sorry."

Jenny Wentz stood in front of him, looking alarmed—Jenny Mason now, he reminded himself, even if she had gotten divorced. One of the prettiest girls in school back in their day, now Edward's English teacher. "I'm so sorry," she repeated with a wince, her hand coming up to her mouth. "I wasn't paying attention."

"S'okay." he said, releasing the breath he'd sucked in. "I wasn't watching either."

He hoped he could escape, just leave it at that and get done and get out, but Jenny didn't seem ready to leave. She moved her shopping basket from one hand to the other.

"Run out on lunch?" Charlie asked. "You must have to get back to school."

"I have a little time. It must be so difficult, taking care of a house . . . getting everything done."

"I manage." Charlie could see the white Rainier cans from there. "We manage."

"Edward must be a big help."

Edward. Charlie pressed his lips together and nodded.

"He's a sweet boy. You're very lucky."

Blinking hard, he nodded again.

"It hurts that much?" she asked with a grimace.

Charlie focused his attention on a random point in front of him and concentrated on breathing.

Jenny paused. From the corner of his eye, she looked uncomfortable, and Charlie hoped she was just going to go. But rather than leave, she seemed inclined to linger.

"He's got himself one beautiful girlfriend," she said.

Charlie flinched as his gut clenched.

"Oh, come on. It's not that long since we were their age," she said with a smile. "And she seems like a nice girl. She's very bright."

Yeah, she was great. Edward was all about how great she was, the things she'd done, the things she'd studied. He went on and on.

"And you know, we're not all that old now." She moved closer to him, and Charlie felt his eyes widen as she smiled and looked up at him through her lashes.

*.*

"Are you going to tell me what those looks were about before?"

Next to him, Grace had unwrapped the sandwich she'd gotten for lunch. She inspected it briefly, pulling a face and crinkling her nose. Pushing it away, she brushed her hands off and shrugged.

"Nothing of any importance."

Edward hummed. His looked around them. The cafeteria was crowded and loud, but the tables immediately around them remained empty. They always did. His eyes drifted around the room, but he abruptly turned away when Ben Cheney walked in, his head hung low, a small group of close friends clustered around him. Edward rubbed the back of his neck and turned to the other side of the room where Alice and Jasper were just paying for food they wouldn't touch. Neither looked in their direction, but he knew both had heard his question and Grace's answer. It was disturbing to him, but with the strength of their senses, privacy was a concept Grace's family had lost long ago. He pushed his own lunch aside. As much as that sucked, he didn't like being the one in the dark.

"You should eat," she said.

"You didn't want him to tell me any of that."

Grace's eyes fell away, and she frowned.

"For once," she said, "I just wanted to be able to enjoy now, enjoy today, and not have to worry about what comes years down the road, to not have what I am ruin it."

Reaching for her hands, Edward wished he could take her in his arms and shield her, protect her from everything. He wanted to stand between her and the world. He wanted to give her the world.

"He was right, though. Everything he said is true. You need to understand just how much you stand to lose."

Edward squeezed her hand.

"He won't," she said. "Jasper. What—what he said he'd considered. He won't."

A shudder ran through Edward. He believed her. But he also believed Jasper meant it when he said he'd considered it. Grace had told him she'd considered it herself as well—that were she like the others out there, nomads she'd called them, she'd have already done it. He had a feeling, though, that Jasper had considered it more, and for longer. Across the room, Jasper and Alice lingered, giving them at least the semblance of privacy. They looked lost, walking at a snail's pace, stopping and turning to each other, talking earnestly.

"This is ridiculous. They can hear every word we say anyway, they might as well just come here already."

"They're sorry they make you uncomfortable."

"Yeah, well. . . ." Edward resisted the urge to curl his hand around his neck.

"You were very gallant," Grace said, her expression lightening as she laced her fingers through his, "leaping to defend my reputation. My very own knight in cotton gym clothes."

Edward stroked her thumb with his. There had to be some way to make this work.

"That feels so nice," she said.

Jasper and Alice sat across from them. Alice smiled widely, showing her teeth, and Edward resisted the urge to shrink back.

"You look so good together." she said.

Next to him, Grace curled against his side.

Jasper looked seriously at him, but when his eyes shifted to Grace, his face softened.

Yeah, they were going to make this work.

Edward wrapped his arm around Grace.

Because the alternative was unacceptable.

*.*

Feeling Edward beside her, his thumb stoking her own, it was hard for Gray to concentrate on anything other than his warmth and how perfect it felt to be so close to him. For a few brief moments, she could shut out the world and truly believe that nothing existed outside of themselves. But the world outside of them did exist, and the happy thoughts another mind broadcast over the others inside her head forced reality back on her.

She drew a breath, and her eyes moved in the direction of the woman whose thoughts had intruded on her own so forcefully.

 _What is it?_ Jasper asked her.

Gray buried her face against Edward. He trailed his fingers down her spine, and hummed into her hair, asking her what was wrong without words.

 _Gray?_ Alice asked.

Gray shook her head.

 _Tanya. . . ._

* * *

There you have chapter two! Finally. Little bit of a hint of what's to come. Drop me a review and let me know what you thought, and I'll respond with a teaser for chapter three, which I hope to post on the 15th. I'm hoping for a 1st and 15th posting schedule.


	3. Chapter 3

A huge thank you Raum and to Patricia for all their help, advice, and their endless patience, and to everyone else who has helped this Pennsylvania girl with advice, recommendations, and information on the Olympic Peninsula. Without their help, this fic would not exist.

This story is set in 2012.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

* * *

.~.

Chapter 3

.~.

"You have got to be kidding me." Edward ran his hands through his hair and over his face. His hands still on his cheeks, he looked at Grace from over his fingertips, horror-struck. He'd felt her body stiffen next to him at lunch, and he'd known she'd heard something that had bothered her. He hadn't known what or from whom, but he'd never have guessed this. "You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid I am."

Edward closed his eyes and dropped his head back. Please, God, no.

They were standing outside the school, alone. Grace had lingered after their last class and had dragged her feet on their way to the parking lot until theirs were the only student cars left. He didn't know where Jasper or Alice had gone.

"We shouldn't be surprised," Grace said, pressing her hand to her forehead, her voice sounding hollow. "He is very eligible."

Edward gaped at her, and she rolled her eyes.

"He is stable and reliable, and he is fit and has all his hair and his teeth. And he's been injured in the line of duty." She sighed. "He cuts a fine, romantic figure."

Edward blinked. "What?"

"He is an attractive—"

"Grace!"

The corners of her lips twitched upwards, but her eyes remained downcast.

"Like it or not, your father is a handsome man."

She stepped closer and stroked the side of his face, letting her fingers continue down his chest, her eyes following and losing some of their shadows. For a moment, Edward forgot what they were talking about.

"He takes after his son," Grace said.

Edward reached for her, his hands settling on her hips, and Grace's head dropped against his chest.

"It only stands to reason that women would be attracted to him."

Edward cringed. "But does it have to be Ms. Mason? She's my teacher!" He shivered. "That's just—"

Suddenly, Grace stepped back and turned toward the school. "Someone's coming." She took his hand, and led him to the woods not far from the parking lot. Just inside the trees, the mountain rose steeply, and they climbed until Edward could no longer see the parking lot.

"To her, he is a reminder of when she was young and one of the most popular girls at school," Grace said, "rather than about to turn forty and recently divorced." She picked up a fallen branch the size of his leg and tossed it aside. "Glory days."

Edward ran his hands through his hair. Why her? Why now? His father hadn't even gone out on a date with anyone that Edward could ever remember, and he said so.

"Hardly an enviable way to live," she responded.

No, Edward admitted. It wasn't. He kicked the ground.

"Can you . . ." Edward swallowed. He motioned to his ear. "Can you hear her? Is she, you know, thinking about him now?"

"She's talking about him to Mrs. Cope." Grace looked down. "She's hoping that if she goes back to the supermarket at lunch everyday, she might run into him again and that it might lead to something."

Mortified, Edward buried his face in his hands.

Hearing Grace's breath shudder, he looked up. Her hand was over her mouth, and she looked distraught.

"What's wrong?"

She shook her head dismissively.

"Grace?" Edward put his hands on her shoulders and ran them down her arms. What else had she heard?

She inhaled and looked to the side, back into the trees.

"I'm just thinking about Tanya." She rubbed her eyes.

Edward fidgeted and scratched the back of his head. His father, who'd never dated anyone in Edward's entire life, now had two women interested in him.

"She really, you know, likes him? Tanya, I mean."

Grace nodded and wrapped her arms around herself.

"She wants nothing more than his happiness," she said, eyes on the ground. "If he's happy, she'll . . ." Grace looked everywhere but at him. "She'll draw comfort from that."

"But why does it have to be my teacher?"

"It might be as simple as her showing her interest in him. It's flattering to learn that someone finds you attractive."

"How did, I mean, how did he seem?" Edward swallowed. "Did he, you know, seem interested?"

"It's hard to gage how one person really thinks or feels from another person's recollections. That person's own feelings can't help but color their impressions. He didn't seem to object. Mostly, he appeared surprised." Grace shrugged. "He's never thought about her before that I ever heard, but that doesn't mean he hasn't."

It felt wrong, hearing Grace talk about which of his father's private thoughts she'd heard. It wasn't something he was comfortable with, and he didn't like thinking about it. It didn't just feel wrong; it was wrong. He'd never said anything to his father about Grace's mind reading. It was a huge betrayal, he knew, but he'd kept her secret from his own father and their closest friends.

"It's not something I have any control over. I can't turn it off." She looked at him earnestly. "I do respect your father's privacy as far as I am able."

"I know you do."

"You haven't told them."

"No. I haven't."

Edward looked down toward he parking lot. They'd been talking quite a while. His father would be checking the clock by now.

"I better go. He'll be wondering where I am."

Grace shifted her weight from foot to foot, and he touched her chin. She leaned into his touch, and he cradled her face in his hands before leaning in to kiss her. The kiss was slow and soft. He traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, and hers met his in the open air. Just like the first time they'd kissed out at the Hoh, under the tree arch with moss hanging around them. She tasted like caramel ice cream. Rich and sweet and cold. This was as close as they could get to deepening their kiss. He'd never understood before why Grace never opened her mouth when they kissed. He'd even feared it was something left over from that bastard who'd hurt and insulted her. He understood now. Her teeth might look normal, but she'd explained they were as sharp as any razor ever made. Knowing that didn't make ending their kiss any easier. He wanted her so badly, stepping away from her was physically painful. They pressed their foreheads together, and Edward licked his lips. He could still taste her.

"I have an idea," he said. "I'm supposed to do five miles today. If I tell him I'm going to do six, I can buy us a little time. Meet me?" The weather was supposed to clear into the evening, but they wouldn't be anywhere they'd be likely to be seen, and if anyone did stray nearby, Grace would know long before they got too close. And he did love to see her glistening like dew on grass in the sun.

She nodded and kissed him again.

Was leaving him as hard for her as leaving her was for him?

"I have something for you," she said, unzipping her purse.

She handed him a white envelope. The paper was heavy, like cardstock. Inside were a dozen old photographs, all of Grace when she'd been human.

"I thought you might like them."

Grace with her parents, Grace alone, Grace with her friends. Some were ones he recognized from the night he'd learned that vampires and werewolves were real, some he hadn't seen before. He had to swallow twice before he could speak. Grace had so little of the life she once lived, and she was giving part of it to him.

"I love them."

.~.

Charlie heard Edward pull up in front of the house, and he released his breath. ESPN was on, but he'd been paying more attention to the clock than the TV. Quickly, when he heard the engine cut off, he hustled into the kitchen and grabbed his physical therapy ball.

The door opened, and when Edward came up the stairs, he dumped his backpack in the hall.

"Hey," he said, nodding and gesturing toward the rubber ball in Charlie's hand. "How's it going?"

Charlie swallowed and curled his fingers around the ball. He counted to ten and relaxed his hand, exhaling.

"Back to work in no time."

Edward nodded.

"Spaghetti and meatballs tonight." Charlie said, putting the ball down. "Picked up a loaf of Italian bread."

Edward had gone to grab a bottle of water, and his arm froze half way raised to the refrigerator.

"Run into anyone at the store?" he asked the bottle.

"Couple people."

Jenny Wentz crossed Charlie's mind. _Mason_ , he reminded himself. _Where the hell had that come from?_ He passed a hand over his stubbled chin and inspected a frayed spot on the cuff of his sleeve. _Shouldn't read anything into it. She couldn't have actually meant anything. I probably misunderstood. She was just being nice. Jenny always was really nice._

"Gonna try to add a mile today," Edward said, still talking to the bottle. "I have to get my mileage built up if I'm going to have time to get my speed up before the race."

"You'll get there."

"Yeah. I'm gonna go stretch and head out."

"Game's on at seven."

Without looking at him, Edward nodded as he picked up his backpack, and he headed to his room. Charlie watched him go. That had gone pretty well. He picked up his beer. Maybe have Billy and Jake over. They could all watch the game together. It'd be just like old times.

.~.

Gray pulled over along the 101 just outside of town and sat in her car, staring at the road. She dreaded going home, what she would find there. Tanya's pain. The all-consuming pain of the rejection she'd suffered, now inevitably compounded by Edward's father's possibly saying yes to someone else.

The pain Gray was terrified awaited her one day.

She genuinely meant what she'd said to Edward—that Tanya would find comfort in knowing his father was happy. As Gray herself would, should that day come for her. But that comfort would be a single bright spot in a world of darkness.

She made herself pull back onto the road. As she drove, her eyes fixed on the precise spot along the highway where she knew her family's thoughts would become audible to her, and she winced as she approached it, turning her head away and squeezing her eyes shut, as if that could shield her mind from the awaiting storm. Crossing the invisible boarder, she pressed her lips together and inhaled sharply. There were so many types of pain and fear, and her family was experiencing the full spectrum.

But there was one person whose thoughts stood out from the rest, and her eyes narrowed. He'd learned to guard his thoughts in her presence, watching the direction his mind took more carefully than she'd realized, but in her absence, he'd let that guard down. He was fed up with the restrictions of a vegetarian lifestyle. It had been one thing before, a necessary sacrifice, but now circumstances had changed. James and Victoria were gone, and he no longer needed to live looking over his shoulder. A low rumble rippled though her. They'd all suspected that had been the case.

As she neared the turn off to the house, her family heard her car, and those thoughts cut off abruptly, being replaced by the mental mask of support and compassion he hid behind, but it was too late. She'd heard enough.

She sneered as the house came into view, but she forced her features to relax before she parked.

She had a mask too, and hers was far more practiced.

The car door slammed shut with more force than was necessary, but no one thought anything about it. Esme met her at the door and Gray stepped into her open arms.

 _She's been asking for you._

Gray nodded.

Together they mounted the steps. Tanya had taken up residence on the third floor in front of the most Forks-facing window, and they found her there, crumpled on the floor like a forgotten rag doll. Kate and Irina were at her side, Carmen and Eleazar not far, and Laurent across the room and looking very out of place. Gray acknowledged the rest but ignored him. Kate noticed.

 _They've been arguing._

Gray held her eyes. Such a large coven as their own had been as close to a guarantee of safety from becoming James' next target as Laurent could have wished for, but James was dead and the sacrifice of their lifestyle was beginning to outweigh Irina's appeal.

Gray knelt in front of her cousin and friend and held both of her hands in her own. Tanya looked hollow. Her jet black eyes were like two sunken holes.

Questions swarmed in Tanya's mind, overlapping, each cutting another off before it had even fully formed.

What could Gray say about this woman they all wish had left Forks decades ago and never come back? In Tanya's place, what would Gray most want to hear about the woman Edward chose?

"She thinks kind thoughts."

Tanya's lips trembled, but she nodded her head before falling against Gray's shoulder.

.~.

Halfway into his run, Edward's mind was so preoccupied, he startled when Grace appeared next to him. Her knuckles knocked against his, and although she smiled up at him, her eyes told a different story. She looked like she'd seen a ghost.

He stopped and held her shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

Wordlessly, Grace slipped into his arms and held him, her face pressed to his chest, drawing deep breaths in and out.

"Grace?"

"Just let me hold you for a moment. Please."

Edward stroked and kissed her hair. Had her family and she argued because of him again? Something had upset her. That much was obvious. He didn't know what, though, and he didn't ask. He only cupped his hand around the back of her head and held her close.

"For as long as you want."

Minutes passed, and Edward slid his fingers over her shoulders and down her arms. For he didn't know how long, they stood together, silent and still, until Grace whispered against his chest.

"If I live a thousand years, I will belong to you for all of them."

The breath left Edward's lungs, and he held her tighter. He couldn't speak. He never could when she said things like that. He could never put everything he felt for her into words. His would be inadequate, clunky and awkward compared to the poetry of hers.

She looked up at him, and the atmosphere around them changed. It was as if the very breeze rustling through the leaves was halted. The animals and birds were frozen as they were. The clouds in the sky were halted in their tracks. The Earth stopped spinning. Apart from themselves, time itself stopped. He kissed her, and almost immediately, hands were everywhere arms could reach, bolder, more intently than any other time.

Edward's pulse raced. Her eyes looked darker, bronze rather than gold. He could see her chest rise and fall with every breath she took. Her sweater hugged her breasts just right. It was thin and soft, and he could feel her body beneath it, firm and solid, cold, but smooth as silk.

Her fingers trailed down his chest and closed around the hem of his shirt, her knuckles brushing his skin. Looking at him through her lashes, her lips parted, her other hand joined the first. Her fingers inched higher, pushing his shirt up his stomach.

Edward felt self-conscious. The track pants he wore did nothing to conceal the way his body reacted to her. His breath sped up. He licked his lips and swallowed. He felt about to burn up, but Grace was nearly motionless. Apart from her fingers and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, she didn't move at all.

"Please," she whispered.

"Anything."

Grace didn't move. Her chest didn't rise or fall. Her hands stayed still. Edward's heart thumped like mad. She drew a shuddering breath and held it as her hands crept upward, pushing his shirt higher then up and over his head.

"You're beautiful," she said reverently, her fingers lightly skimming his chest. She was barely touching him, but he'd never felt anything more intense.

He kissed her, and nothing outside the two of them existed. He felt the soft fabric of her sweater pressed against his skin; her hands on him felt electric. He was hard and pressed between them, fireworks exploding inside of him.

Her mouth moved down to his jaw, then lower, to his throat. The tip of her nose brushed the curve of his neck and shoulder. Her fingers ghosted up and down his sides, making his muscles twitch. Her tongue flicked over his shoulders, and goosebumps that had nothing to do with cold erupted over him. Her lips moved over his chest, and his head fell back. Her thumbs passed over his nipples, and his head snapped up, his eyes wide. She pressed her lips to them, and Edward's jaw dropped. She smiled against his chest and looked up at him, her eyes light and alive. When she licked them, he moaned. But then her hand moved lower, her knuckles circling his belly button and below. Her eyes locked on his, she went perfectly still for two thundering beats of his heart, then her hand moved lower, brushing over him through his track pants.

Edward groaned from deep in his chest. His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. Every muscle in his body trembled with the need to thrust against her. The back of her fingers slid over him again, feather-light but explosive. His knees buckled, and he leaned heavily on her, clinging to her as the back of her hand slid over him. Grace touching him was nothing like when he touched himself.

He wanted to touch her too. His hands slid over her, over her sweater, then under, starting at her stomach and slowly moving upward, giving her a chance to say stop. His fingertips brushed the undersides of her breasts, and what little of his blood that remained in his veins raced. A soft gasp drew in through her parted lips and he cupped her in his hands. Over her bra, he rolled her nipples between his fingers. Her eyes fell shut, and she drew a shuddering breath that was released with a groan.

"Open your eyes," he said.

Grace's eyes were more than just beautiful. In them, he could see her soul. They told him everything, and right now, they told him just how much she felt, how much she wanted. They told him just how hard she was fighting to stay in control.

Edward slowly pushed her sweater up. As every inch of her skin was uncovered, he grew harder. When he pulled it over her head and dropped it to the ground, his cock twitched.

Her bra was light pink and smooth. Long strands of her dark hair trailed over her curves, contrasting with her pale skin as it shimmered like newly fallen snow in the dappled sunlight. He let his fingers roam over her, running the tip of one finger along the edge of her bra, down to the point of the V between her breasts and back up the other side. He rolled her nipples between his fingers again, and her head lolled to one side.

He leaned down and kissed her. Their arms wrapped around each other, their chests pressed together. Edward shivered, and Grace drew away.

She took a step back, but he followed.

"You're cold," she said, backing up until her back pressed against a tree. Looking self-conscious for the first time, her arms twisted together in front of herself, covering herself as if suddenly embarrassed.

Edward took her hands, kissed them, and lowered them. He shook his head. "Believe me, I'm not cold."

"You're sure?"

"Very." He took her face in his hands and kissed her again, and this time, she didn't pull away.

She set her hands flat against his chest and pressed her forehead between them. She breathed in and out deeply.

"If I didn't want you so badly," she said, continuing to breathe in and out, "it wouldn't be nearly this hard to stay in control of myself."

Hearing her say she wanted him, Edward soared to the sky.

"I can't let myself lose control with you. Not for a second."

"Do you want to stop?" he asked, praying she said no.

She shook her head against him, and he wrapped his arms around her. Grace's hands slid to the small of his back, and she kissed the center of his chest, then directly over his heart.

He played with strands of her hair before sliding trembling fingers over her back and along the strap of her bra.

The strap was was smooth. One long, unbroken, ribbon. There was no hook.

Grace's shoulders shook as she giggled before looking up at him with a devilish grin.

"It opens in the front."

She opened it herself, and Edward licked his lips.

He ran his finger down the narrow strip of bare skin exposed between her breasts as she stroked him over his pants, her fingers teasing and trailing over him. He throbbed. He could see her restraint in her eyes as she looked up at him, her body very still, and his own hands shook as he fought to go slowly when he slid them under her bra.

The feel of her bare breasts cupped in his hands was Edward's undoing, and his was hers.

Edward pushed her bra open and dropped to his knees in front of her. He ogled her before covering one nipple with his mouth, sucking and licking it, blowing on it, as he fondled her other breast. Grace cried his name out, and he groaned against her. She dropped to the ground, and he fell on top of her. Frenzied, desperate, they kissed and rubbed against each other, legs twisting together, hands groping and stroking anywhere and everywhere they could reach. They rolled around on the forest floor, leaves tangling in Grace's hair. On his hands and knees above her, Edward licked, kissed, and sucked his way over her chest. She writhed beneath him, twisting and arching her back, pushing herself up toward him. The feeling of her skin sliding against his was driving Edward crazy with the need to see and feel all of her. Her arms outstretched at her sides, her hands grasped for anything she could get a grip on, and she crushed it.

Grace rolled them over, and she straddled him on her knees, her hands at his shoulders. Her hair hung down and trailed over his shoulders. He fondled her breasts, softly pinching her nipples. She lowered herself to him and kissed him, his lips, his face, his neck. Her lips and tongue slid over his shoulders and chest, down to his stomach, and it was Edward's turn to writhe on the ground.

As she moved down his body to his stomach, Edward pushed himself up onto his elbows. Her hand resumed softly stroking him over his pants. She looked up at him, and her eyes stayed locked on his as she played with his waistband.

He couldn't breathe.

Her fingers slipped under the elastic, tugging it down. Cool air washed over him, and when Grace's fingers brushed against him, Edward fell back to the ground and cried out, his hips bucking up. No one had ever touched him there before. The coolness of her hands was a shock that might've been painful had it not felt so fucking good . The heat coiling inside him grew, contrasted by the coolness of Grace's fingers. Everything felt heightened by the difference in the temperature of their skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, and his breath and body shook as his muscles tightened. The intensity of the pleasure building inside him was fire and electricity, and it climbed higher, stronger, faster, until it exploded inside him and blew him apart.

Boneless, weightless, out of breath, and his heart thundering wildly, Edward lay on the forest floor, he felt lethargic and breathless, but fuck he felt good. He threw one arm over his head, grinned like a drunken man, and reached out for Grace. He wanted to make her feel as good as he did.

Except she wasn't there.

Anxious, he grabbed fronds from a nearby fern and wiped his stomach clean, calling her name.

In the distance, he saw her, small, white, and radiant in dappled sunlight.

Tugging his pants up, Edward scrambled to his feet and hurried to her. She sat motionless, curled in on herself, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms over her head. As he neared, she scampered away, holding one hand out, telling him not to come nearer. Edward stopped in his tracks, his stomach dropping to his feet.

"Grace?"

She shook her head.

Guilt coiled inside him. He shouldn't have put the responsibility of saying they should stop on her alone. He should've put a stop to it himself before it had gotten out of hand. It had just felt so good, and he'd wanted it so badly. But it was selfish to only have thought of himself.

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head again.

"Give me a minute," she said, her voice pained and muffled by her hand over her mouth.

Edward waited, and soon, he saw her shoulders rise. She moaned and fell forward, onto her hands and knees. Her back rose and fell once, then again. She shuddered, but sat back. Picking up a twig, she whipped it into the trees.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She scoffed, but nodded. "Way to ruin a moment, huh?"

"You didn't ruin anything. It's my fault. I shouldn't have pushed you."

She looked at him over her bare shoulder, bits of debris from the forest floor tangled in her hair, and in spite of the guilt he felt, Edward's cock twitched.

As if she knew, one corner of her mouth curled upward.

"I'm a big girl. I can say stop perfectly well."

"Yeah, but it's not fair to make you always be the one to say it." He hesitated, then asked, "What happened?"

Her shoulders curled forward, and she lowered her head, as if she were ashamed.

Pointing to where she sat, he asked, "Can I?"

She nodded, and he sat next to her. He picked a bit of a dead leaf from her hair and dropped it. He let his hand hover over her shoulder, waiting for her to say it was okay before he touched her.

"I thought I knew what to expect, but that was . . . more powerful than I'd anticipated." She moaned. "The scent of you. . . ."

Edward's face grew warm. First his run, then . . . "I'm all sweaty and gross."

Grace looked at him from the corner of her eye, and the desire he saw in her rocked him. He swallowed. How was he supposed to do this? Talk to her sitting there with no shirt on? He rubbed his upper lip. Keeping his eyes from drifting down to her breasts was the most difficult thing he'd ever done.

"You are anything but gross. I rather like you sweaty." She shuddered. "Touching you like that, seeing you . . . like that, hearing the sounds you made . . . was intense, but your scent was too much. I've never smelled anything that . . . affected me so strongly." She closed her eyes. "I have to be so careful around you, always," she said. "I can never let my guard down."

He closed his eyes.

"Because I'm human."

She nodded, and he pulled her against him. He flinched involuntarily at the contact of her cold skin against his chest, and she pulled away. Not letting her, Edward moved with her, wrapping her in his arms.

"You're cold."

"I don't care."

Edward kissed the top of her head and pressed his forehead to her hair. It wasn't fair to her, having to hold herself back just because he was human. She relaxed and melted against him. He stroked his finger across her shoulder. "Is this okay?"

"Very okay. It feels amazing."

Edward let his fingers drift across her collarbone and the little dip at the bottom of her throat. He moved lower, ghosting the tips of his fingers between her breasts, stroking up and down. He circled his fingers around her nipple, and she gasped and hummed. He turned his attention back to the base of her neck, sliding his fingers across her collarbone, back and forth.

He was going to do this slowly if it killed him. And he thought it just might.

Suddenly, Grace was on her feet, her back to him, and he scrambled up behind her.

"What's wrong?"

She sighed. "Your friend is coming."

"Jake?" Mood killed, Edward tensed, looking in the direction Grace did. "Jake's coming?"

"Mm. It looks like the party's over. At least for today." She sighed and laced their fingers together. "We'd better make ourselves presentable for company."

.~.

Gray's jaw was clamped firmly shut, her teeth grinding together. Were she and Edward never to have a moment's peace to themselves? She was in no mood to tolerate Jacob Black, not today. Tanya's pain, it was all thanks to the dogs. It may've been Edward's father who'd directly caused it, but it was the influence of the dogs that had prejudiced him. Her fingers twitched, and her chest rumbled.

Behind her, Edward rested his hands on her shoulders and bitterness she wasn't ready to let go of drained away. Thinking of what they'd just done together, excitement soared inside her. She'd been so afraid she might hurt him, but she hadn't. Laying her hands on top of his, she melted against him.

Edward squeezed her shoulders, and she turned, looking up at him. That his posture had tightened when she'd told him his friend was coming had not escaped her notice. It wasn't her he was afraid of. It was Jacob. Part of her crowed in delight, but it was only a small part. She'd rather he weren't afraid of anything.

Edward's fingers tightened on her shoulders, and she knew he'd seen his friend through the trees. Seconds later, Jacob stepped in front of them.

"Why, what an unexpected delight," she said.

He ignored her, his glare on Edward alone.

Time had flown, and Edward had been expected home long ago. From Jacob's mind, Gray could see that Edward's father had been frantic by the time they had arrived at the house to watch the game. She couldn't deny that his fear was genuine, or that it wasn't justifiable given the tribe's past experiences with her kind. But Tanya was suffering too, and right or wrong, Gray had trouble dredging up any real sympathy for the man.

"You my babysitter now?" Edward asked.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Oh, for—Seriously? He sent you out looking for me? You gotta be fucking kidding me."

Jacob squared his shoulders and glared at Gray, imagining himself standing over a smoldering pile of ash. She rolled her eyes. She could drop him before he even had all four paws on the ground.

"Your father expected you home."

"We were just—"

"Spare me. I know what you were doing. I could smell it a mile away."

In Jacob's mind, Gray saw Edward blanch, then redden as his eyes narrowed.

"Fuck you."

"He's scared—not that you seem to give a fuck. And after the other two like her—" He spat the words like they were poison.

Gray's teeth clenched. "James and Victoria were nothing like us."

"Wait—what other two?" Edward touched her arm. "Grace? What other two?"

Jacob's nostrils flared. It burned in his gut that Edward had turned to her rather than to him.

That didn't mean she was eager to be the one to tell him two human-feeding vampires had passed so close to him, alone and deep in the woods. The abject fear, the desperate need to protect him at all costs was something she would never forget.

"Two nomads passed by, but they're gone."

Edward sucked in a breath. For far too long, it looked like he'd stopped breathing. "You mean, like, the others?"

"She means," Jacob said, "a couple of filthy bloodsuckers."

"And they. . . ?"

Barely dipping her head an inch, Gray nodded.

Edward gasped.

"What did you expect?" Jacob radiated condescension. "Wake up! Her kind kill people. It's what they do."

Gray shot him a loathing-filled look.

"And they were near Forks?" The pitch of Edward's voice rose, and his heart rate increased. "What if they come back?"

"They won't."

Jacob relished the memory of his jaws snapping shut on James' neck, his dagger-like teeth slicing into him, and he laughed. "They won't be going anywhere."

With a kill to his name, he was a hero on the reservation. James was sadistic and depraved, but Jacob knew nothing of that. To him, one of her kind was no different than any other. His satisfaction would be the same in the destruction of a James as of a Carlisle or an Esme. Gray snarled.

Edward looked at him warningly.

"What?" Jacob scoffed. "You sorry there's a couple less leeches out there going around killing people?"

"They're dead?"

Gray nodded.

"Ripped blondie's head right off his shoulders." Jacob laughed. "Should've seen the look on his face when it hit the ground."

Edward's eyes went wide.

"It's the only way," Grace said soothingly. She wished she knew what he was thinking. He looked pale. His jaw was slack, and his eyes drifted aimlessly without focus.

She also wished she could rip Jacob's tongue out of his mouth.

"Tear 'em apart and burn the pieces," he said, grinning.

Edward grimaced. "What? Do you, like, carry around a machete or something?"

Jacob smirked, smug. "Don't need a machete"

Slowly, understanding dawned in Edward's eyes, and he gaped at his friend.

Jacob crossed his arms in front of himself. "They were hunting Sam and Emily, if, you know, you care about that— _hunting_ them."

"It's true," Grace said softly, laying her hand on his back. "There was no choice. They would not have been dissuaded."

"Emily and Sam?" Edward passed the back of his hand across his mouth. "Emily. There was no bear attack, was there?"

"No."

He rubbed his forehead and looked at Jake. "So, you lied to me. Again."

Mentally, Jake bristled. As tightly wound as he was, his first instinct was to snap back at the accusation, but he checked himself. In spite of herself, Gray was impressed by his restraint. Lying to Edward and his father hadn't been his call, nor his father's, and they'd argued vehemently against it. She rubbed Edward's back. The muscles across his shoulders were in knots.

"I had no choice," Jacob said. "Sam and the elders—"

"I don't give a fuck what Sam or the elders—"

"It's true." Grace trailed her fingers over his shoulders and spine. She could hear Jacob's teeth grinding. She couldn't believe she was speaking up for the mutt, but the hurt she could hear in Edward's voice left her no choice. "Sam is the Alpha. His orders must be followed."

"He could've—"

"No. He really couldn't. It isn't a matter of choosing to follow the Alpha's orders. It's a compulsion. They are physically incapable of disobeying him."

Jacob was livid to learn that she knew that, but she ignored him. Only a fool took no trouble to learn everything there was to know about an enemy.

Edward's body was as rigid as a board, but their eyes held the other's and slowly, his shoulders relaxed.

"Did my dad know?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. She could see the muscles in his jaw tighten, and she twisted her fingers together.

"What happened? Exactly."

"Maybe you should ask her." Jacob's eyes were as hard as coal, his arms crossed and his chin jutted out. "Since you take her word more than mine."

"Yeah, well she hasn't been lying to me all our lives, has she?"

"No, only every minute she's known you."

The words hit Grace like a fist because they were perfectly true.

"You were there?" he asked her.

"I heard them as they were tracking the couple." Looking pointedly at Edward, she rubbed her forehead, and she could see he understood. "I couldn't do nothing." She described the encounter without going into the excessive detail replaying in Jacob's mind like a highlights reel. When she came to Emily, Gray skimmed over the accident as lightly as possible, but Edward had had too much kept from him, and he deserved to know how she'd been injured. By whom. His eyes widened and flashed between Jake and her. A range of emotions crossed Edward's face as she recounted what had happened.

"I dove to the ground and Jacob finished him."

Edward's hand shook as he raised it to touch the side of her neck, near the scars James had left.

"He could've—That James, he could've killed you. You could've been killed."

She took his hand and kissed his fingertips.

"It wasn't as serious as it sounds. He bit me, yes—"

"On the neck. Twice."

"Yes, but they were shallow. His intention was humiliation."

Edward grabbed hold of her, holding her tightly against his chest. She could feel him breathe, feel his heart beat, and her eyes fell shut as she melted against him. Seething, Jacob's fingers flexed and clenched. He wanted to rip her away from him, but she was exactly where she wanted to be, and for as long as Edward wanted her, she wasn't going anywhere.

.~.

* * *

There you have chapter three! I expect to post chapter four on 5/1. For a preview, drop me a review and let me know what you think so far.

Michelle Hodkin, _The Evolution of Mara Dyer_ "If I were to live a thousand years, I would belong to you for all of them."


	4. Chapter 4

A huge thank you Raum and to Patricia for all their help, advice, and their endless patience, and to everyone else who has helped this Pennsylvania girl with advice, recommendations, and information on the Olympic Peninsula. Without their help, this fic would not exist.

This story is set in 2012.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

* * *

.~.

Chapter 4

.~.

The walk back to the house was silent, but with every step, the tension rolling off of Edward increased. Gray could see it in his shoulders and in his hands, hear it with every breath he drew. From the corner of his eyes, the young Quileute glared at her, but Gray tuned him out. Her focus was on Edward. Her fingers twisted together. She couldn't hear what he was thinking, but she could guess, and she didn't like it.

She touched his hand.

"You promised."

He didn't respond immediately but then his steps faltered. He raised a hand to his face in frustration before turning to her.

"What?"

His voice had been sharper than she'd ever heard it directed at her before, and she shrank back before her resolve returned.

"I will never see my parents again. Never speak to them again. Please. Words are harder to take back than you realize, and they're a terrible weight to have to carry."

Edward pressed his lips together before his posture softened. He nodded and curled his arms around her. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just so—"

"I know."

To Jacob he said, "Still say she's a monster?"

He didn't see Jacob's eyes narrow behind his back, or his lips curl back from his teeth, but Gray did. Edward brushed her hair away from her face, and she smiled. But then he touched her neck near the scars James had left, and it fell.

"Never keep a secret like that from me again."

She opened her mouth to say again that it hadn't been as bad as he was imagining, but he cut her off.

"Never, Grace. I mean it. That's what I want you to promise me."

"Edward, I—"

"Promise me."

She could only relent and give him her word.

He studied her for a long moment before he cupped his hands around her neck and jaw and pressed his forehead to hers. Gray breathed him in. She wanted to breathe him in so deeply that should the day come that he was no longer there, his scent would still fill her.

Jacob's thoughts escalated in volume until she could no longer ignore them. His self control was being tested more severely than was safe.

With one last deep breath, she stepped back.

"We'd best get back."

"In a second."

Edward closed the space between them and kissed her. He smiled against her lips and traced the tip of his nose over the swell of her cheek, then kissed her again. Had she suddenly sprouted wings, Gray could not have soared higher.

He squeezed her hand. "Now, let's get back."

As they walked, Gray wrapped her arm around his and pressed her face into his arm.

Behind them, Jacob seethed.

.~.

Where had he been? What had he been doing? The questions were choking him, their words like cords wrapped around his throat. When Grace had been in danger, when she'd been in a fight for her life to protect people who despised her, what had he been doing? Where had he been? The questions felt like a fist had punched its way inside of him and grabbed hold of his heart, crushing it.

He turned his mind back. His father had told him Emily had been attacked by a bear—had lied to him—when he'd come home from spending the day with Grace after they'd met out at the lake. The day after Mr. Varner had died—his picture had been on the front page of the paper that morning. Edward remembered seeing his father reading the paper when he'd come back from a run. He'd been out on a run that morning. At the very time Grace had been fighting for her life, he'd been out on a stupid run. He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes as he tightened his grip on her hand.

The edge of the forest was near enough now that he could see the house through the trees, and he realized that he'd forgotten about the sun. Its light barely reached them through the canopy above, but it shone bright and clear on the house. He stopped, and Grace pulled a step ahead of him. He tugged her hand closer to him.

"Edward? What is it?" she asked.

"The sun—"

"I'll be fine."

Edward was unconvinced.

She looked from house to house. "Your neighbors are occupied with their own activities. No one will be peeking into the backyard for the handful of seconds it will take to cross the yard."

He looked toward the house doubtfully. Grace shook her hair down in front of her face like the day of the robbery and pulled the cuffs of her sleeves down over her hands. Parting her hair in front of her eyes and looking up at him, she arched her eyebrow.

"How's this?"

Relenting but not happy, Edward nodded his head.

"Still, probably best to not mention anything to my family," she said lightly, but not.

She smiled and winked at him before letting her hair form a curtain in front of her face, blocking it from his view. He wanted to brush it aside. He didn't want to not be able to see her face. There was something about her voice, something in the way she'd said not to mention anything to her family that unsettled him.

She pushed her hair aside. "Edward?"

He opened his mouth, but hesitated.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

She looked at him questioningly, like she suspected he'd been thinking something else.

"The sun? No. It doesn't hurt."

Edward nodded. He put his arm around and her and tucked her against his side. Grace folded her arms, tucking her hands under and pressing her face against his shoulder. As they stepped from the trees and into the yard, Edward could see his father in the window. He visibly sagged with relief at the sight of him, but his posture stiffened in the next second.

Edward stopped.

"Maybe you should go back," he said into Grace's hair.

"Not a chance."

He looked at her, then back to the house. He had a bad feeling this was going to be ugly.

"I'm staying with you," she said.

Edward looked back at Jake. His face was so hard, Edward barely recognized him. He looked away and held Grace closer. He felt like a man leading his own girlfriend to the firing squad.

.~.

Edward's father's thoughts were tortured. Even before she set foot on the back stairs, Gray could smell the combination of beer and mouthwash on his breath. As she stepped into the kitchen, their eyes locked. His were faintly bloodshot. Another time, she'd have looked away, but Tanya's thoughts were tortured too.

Across the room, Billy Black sat in his wheelchair, glaring daggers at her. She listened to every syllable that raged through his mind without ever sparing him a glance. Behind her marched Jacob, replaying his kill in his mind, replacing James with her. Edward was in a room with not one but potentially two incensed werewolves—who knew what threat the older man might still pose or whether he could still phase. She stuck close to his side.

"Do you have any idea—"

"You knew."

Billy Black had just begun the tirade she'd been listening to in his mind since he entered Forks, but Edward cut him off. He looked between his father and friends, betrayal and accusation equal in his voice.

"You all knew."

Edward stalked across the room and back. Gray followed, never letting him farther than arm's reach.

"How are Sam and Emily doing, Billy?" Edward asked. "They good? Emily getting better?"

Billy leaned back in his chair, his hands gripping the arm rests.

Worrying her bottom lip, Gray touched Edward's back. She felt his muscles beneath her fingers, toned and strong, but so very human when compared to his friend's.

"Please, don't."

"Don't what? Don't expect them to at least acknowledge what they owe you?"

"They don't owe me anything."

"Don't—After what you did for them?"

Gray twisted her fingers together until Edward took her hands in his. She heard the edge of the countertop threaten to crack under Jacob's palms. Billy Black pulled himself forward in his chair as far as he could. Had he been able to, he'd have lunged at her. In his mind, he pictured himself doing just that, his hands paws before they touched the ground. Exhausted emotionally and physically, Edward's father remained silent, slumped in a chair at the table. His thoughts were unintelligible fragments. He had more weight on his shoulders than he could carry much longer, Gray feared. All of this she observed peripherally as she memorized the exact shape of Edward's fingers, the feel of them against hers.

"I didn't do it for them."

"You didn't?"

Gray shook her head. The all-consuming fear she had felt at the realization that two human-feeding vampires were within just a few miles of Edward came rushing back, driving everything else from her head.

He touched her face. "Then why?"

She looked away. She didn't want to admit the real reason for her actions. She didn't want Edward to feel the guilt she was afraid he would, but he'd been lied to about so much, she couldn't betray his trust again.

"I had to."

"But why?

"They'd have come after you."

Edward gasped, staggering back a step.

"Me?"

His father whimpered, and Edward's attention snapped to him. Remembering his friends telling him what had happened that morning, his father's thoughts were suddenly loud and clear. All three men had one sentence in their head.

" _They threatened my mate."_

They already knew, of course. But having it confirmed by her own words had their hackles standing on end.

"You think we'd have let anything happen to him?" Jacob spat.

"I believe you would've fought valiantly, but in vain. You have no idea what you were up against."

Overconfident, Jacob and his father scoffed.

"We've been fighting your kind for centuries."

"At what cost?" Gray asked. "How many one-on-one fights have you won? How many of your own have you lost?"

Jacob bared his teeth at her and leaned forward. Gray hissed.

"Stop it!" Edward touched her elbow. "Did you know them?"

Reluctantly, she nodded.

"Indirectly. But I knew of them well enough."

"What do you mean, indirectly?"

Gray wrapped her arms around herself. This was not a story she wanted to recall, let alone one she wanted to recount, and it was certainly not one she wanted Edward to be burdened with.

"Our paths crossed once. They didn't know I was there, and I got out of the area before they could realize it. I'd heard and seen enough to want to put as much distance between them and me as possible as quickly as possible."

Edward rubbed his forehead, but then he turned to her, eyes wide, and she knew he'd made the connection even before he asked the question.

"When was that?"

When she didn't answer immediately, he repeated the question.

"1931."

"Outside of New York. The two you told me about."

Gray swallowed a mouthful of venom and nodded.

"Oh, God."

Edward drew two breaths, then fell against her, clutching her tightly.

"What happened? Who were they?" Edward's father asked, sitting up straighter and stronger than he had before. He could see only one reason for his son's being in danger, one guilty party. "Why would they have come after Edward? Because of you?"

Her face pressed against Edward's chest, her hands clutching his shirt, she answered him.

"No. They never knew I existed until that morning. James was a tracker, and an exceptionally skilled one."

Jacob jeered. "Some tracker. You just said your paths crossed, now you say they didn't know you existed."

Leaning forward, his elbows on the arms of his wheelchair, his father silenced him. Older and more experienced, he wanted to hear what she had to say. Faces of pack members who'd been lost were like flash cards through his mind.

"I am not without skills of my own. They didn't know I'd existed because I crossed their path. They did not cross mine. They would not have caught my scent unless they doubled back, and they had no reason to do that."

"Why would they have come after Edward?" his father asked more emphatically.

Gray slid accusing eyes between Jacob and his father.

"Because of them."

His father startled at that. He didn't understand. She saw his friend and Jacob in his mind.

"They'd have come looking for more of the wolves. We all hunt for prey, but James hunted for sport. He lived for it. The chase. The challenge. It was a game to him. Humans. Other vampires. It didn't matter. It was all about the chase, the hunt. It was his obsession. To find the Quileute wolves was beyond his wildest dreams. A new sentient species? It was his greatest game ever. After he'd killed your Alpha and the woman, he'd have killed you. And he wouldn't have stopped there. He'd have been drunk with excitement and wanted more. He'd have followed your scent, and it would've led him straight to Forks." Venom flooded Grace's mouth and she swallowed hard, the full weight of her loathing in her glare. "Where in Forks would your scent lead them?"

Edward's father made a strangled, choking sound, pulling Gray's eyes and melting the ice in them. His mind had gone nearly as silent as his son's, and his face was as pale as her own. There were no words, only pictures. All she could see were flashes, split second images of Edward, lying broken and lifeless, his eyes unseeing, his throat mangled and bloody. Images she saw in her own mind daily. She looked at him in commiseration. Edward was everything to him too.

"I handled that tick just fine." With adolescent overconfidence, Jacob dismissed the notion that he would've been easily defeated, but his father was as badly shaken as Edward's. The pack were brave, but they loved their children as much as any parent.

"After your Alpha mangled his hand, and I busted his knee and jaw."

Lips curling, they scowled at each other through narrowed eyes.

"You were hurt—" Edward's voice was weak and breathless in a way she'd never heard him speak before, but it cut through the atmosphere like nothing else could've. "You were nearly killed—because you were protecting me?"

This was the last thing Gray wanted, and she took his hands in hers. What could she say to erase that look from his eyes? There was nothing, and she knew it.

Shaken by his own worst-nightmare images of his son losing the fight with James and unable to endure being in the same room with her any longer, let alone see Edward touching her, Billy Black abruptly wheeled himself forward and announced they were leaving. Jacob stepped forward, and Edward's father gave them a panicked look before his eyes locked on her, the words _"They threatened my mate"_ flashing through his mind along with images of himself, waiting for the day his son wouldn't come home. Edward was his everything, and he was terrified of losing him, terrified that Edward was slipping further from him. She clenched her jaw. She didn't want to feel sympathy for this man, not with Tanya in so much pain because of him, but she couldn't help being moved. The most important thing in either of their lives was the one thing they shared.

Gray stroked the back of Edward's hand with her thumb. She didn't want to leave him. Every time, it got harder. She let her arms fall to her sides. Edward sighed and scratched his shoulder. Neither stepped away.

"I'll go, too," she said. Stretching onto her toes, she set her hands on Edward's shoulder and kissed his check. "Talk to him," she whispered into his ear. "He's more afraid than you realize." As she took half a step back, she heard his teeth clench together and he exhaled through his nose, but she saw the tightness around his eyes lessen, and he dipped his head a fraction of an inch.

Jacob had pushed his father to the stairs leading down to the front door.

"I'll get the wheels," Edward said as he followed them. Jacob looked about ready to refuse the help, but a look from his father silenced him. Without a word, the two maneuvered the chair down the seven stairs to the landing in front of the door, then down the front steps with the apparent ease of people who had done something plenty of times before.

Outside, the sun was hanging low in the sky but still shining brightly, little that it mattered. It was a beautiful evening, but not a soul was outside. Dinners were being eaten or cleaned up, homework was being done, TV was being watched, phones were being stared at. Just as before, no one would be venturing into their yards, or even glancing out the window.

 _The world is too much with u_ _s_ , Gray thought to herself. Still, it worked to her advantage.

She stood before the back door, waiting until she could hear Jacob settling his father in the passenger seat. Like a deer in headlights, Edward's father stood rooted to the spot, his mind gone silent once more. She took advantage of the few moments before Edward returned to speak to him. Who knew when she'd get the chance again.

"Chief Swan, I believe you to be a fair and kind man. I don't believe you to be someone who could rest easily knowing his words have unjustly caused pain to another. Believe what you will of us except for one thing. Tanya never sought to mislead you. There are more than enough things you could rightly accuse us of, but her deceiving you is not one of them. Her feelings for you are genuine. I won't ask more of you than that you at least give her credit for that."

.~.

Edward came back into the kitchen and made a bee-line straight to that girl, like he was drawn to her. _Like a couple of damned magnets._ Now they just stood there by the back door. Helplessly, Charlie watched them. They didn't touch. They didn't speak. They just stood close and looked at each other. Normal seventeen-year-olds were all over each other. Fuck knew he and Renee had been all over each other in their early days. That, he could understand. If it were just that, just hormones or whatever, he'd still hate it, but he'd understand it better. He could relate. But this? This was something different. And it scared him all the more. They were entranced by the other. It reminded him of the way the Billy and Sarah, his late wife, had been together. All they'd needed in the world to be happy was to be together. And Harry and Sue, too.

The only person Charlie had ever felt anything close to that kind of devotion to was Edward.

He cleared his throat, and like that, the spell was broken. Edward jumped, and that girl slowly turned her head toward Charlie. She looked at him sympathetically, like she felt sorry for him. Pitied him.

It pissed him off.

And why'd she have to go and bring up that other one like that? Like he was supposed to believe Tanya ever gave a fuck about him. She was probably relieved to not have to pretend anymore.

Suddenly, that girl looked away. There'd been no movement—not that Charlie had been able to see. One second she was looking at him with sad, baby doe eyes, and then she was looking at the floor, her expression changed, her lips pressed together. One, then the other, with no in between. It was fucking weird.

Edward touched her chin, and she raised her eyes to him. If the look she'd given him was sad, the one she gave Edward was gutted.

"I should go," she said.

 _Yes, you should. Go. And stay gone._

She closed her eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked Edward.

His hand dropped to his side, and he looked like a kid who came down Christmas morning to a bare tree. He nodded and took a step back. "See you tomorrow."

Hand on the door, she lingered a moment before leaving, but before the door closed behind her, she was out of sight.

Charlie released a breath he felt like he'd been holding for hours.

Looking lost, Edward rubbed his arms before crossing the kitchen and opening the freezer. He grabbed a bag of breaded chicken breasts and fries and slammed the door shut. He stopped short and closed his eyes. Charlie could see the muscles working in his jaw. He grabbed a baking sheet and set the temperature on the oven to preheat. Charlie had to think of something, some words of wisdom, something that would make his son see reason.

Edward glanced at him before ripping the bags open. He braced himself, palms against the edge of the counter. Charlie swore he was counting to ten in his head.

"Buffalo?" he asked. Without waiting for Charlie to answer, he grabbed a bottle from the refrigerator and poured it over the chicken.

"Did you really have to send Jake out looking for me?" he asked, his back to Charlie.

"I didn't know where you were."

"Yes, you did." The words were more accusation than statement. "You knew where I was, and who I was with, and that's why you sent him out after me."

"She's not human. Why don't you get that?"

"And what's Jake?" Edward scoffed. "Or doesn't that matter? He's not human, but that's okay. You're such a hypocrite. You knew what she did. All this time, you've known what she did. But you don't care, because she's not the right kind of not human. Sam almost killed Emily—why don't you get that?"

"Sam feels sick about—"

"I don't care how he feels. Nothing she does is good enough for you, but nothing they do is wrong."

"It was an accident."

"And that makes it okay?"

"Her kind kill people deliberately."

"Other people kill people deliberately too. That doesn't make you and me guilty. She's never hurt an innocent person."

"Oh, no. She wouldn't hurt a fly. That what she told you?"

"I didn't say that, and no, that isn't what she told me. She has killed people. I know that. She admitted it to me herself."

Whatever Charlie had been about to say died in his throat. He stared at his son, open-mouthed, at a loss for what to say to that.

"Do you want to know what kind of people?"

Edward charged full steam ahead, going on about a woman and two little girls leaving a movie theater. Charlie felt cold from head to foot.

"So, yes. She killed two men. Men who were about to molest two little girls and rape their mother, maybe kill all three of them, and I'm sorry if you think she's a monster for that because I don't. I'm not sorry she did it. I think that woman and her daughters are more important than those two scum bags.

"And, no. Those two weren't the only people she killed. But all the rest were just the same. Murderers. Hit men—she killed mob hit men, cop killers. And rapists. And child molesters. And I'm not sorry any of them are dead either.

"And yes, she did know who James and Victoria were. She told me about them too. She was alone and came close enough to hear them. They were so sick, they scared the hell out of her so much that she turned and ran." Full of emotion, Edward choked on his words. "She ran all the way to Alaska—from New York. She didn't stop running until she ran out of land."

His voice grew softer until Charlie leaned forward to hear him.

"For days she stayed there and didn't move. She was all alone until Tanya and her sisters found her. By then she was half buried in a snow drift. Now you know why Tanya means so much to her. They saved her.

"But when she heard them near Forks, she ran at them. Because they were near me." His voice shook. "She was so terrified of them that she ran across the entire country to get away from them, but she ran at them because of me. And he nearly killed her. Because of me."

Edward stared at the ground, then left the room. A second later, Charlie heard his bedroom door slam. In his head it sounded as loud as a gunshot.

Memories from the day he'd almost lost his son flooded his mind.

In a drawer in his room, the bullet that girl had snatched out of the air was hidden under some shirts. He'd wanted to throw it away. He'd been going to. He'd stood out on the deck with it in his hand and his arm cocked back, about to chuck it as far as he could.

But he hadn't been able to. His muscles wouldn't move. His joints had locked. It had felt like the bullet were a red hot coal that had seared itself to his palm, but he couldn't throw it away. It had been as if it were a live wire, electrocuting him, and he couldn't make himself let go.

He startled when the buzzer on the stove went off, then winced when pain throbbed in his shoulder. Hoisting himself out of the chair, he put the chicken and fries in the oven. He went to the freezer and got some frozen vegetables in sauce and put them in too. For a moment he hesitated before going to the fridge and grabbing a beer. Leaning against the counter, he downed it and clenched the empty can in his good hand. He cocked his arm back, ready to whip it across the room, but swore instead.

.~.

Sitting on his bed, Edward stroked the black and white image of Grace with his thumb. This was his favorite of the pictures she'd given him. Her smile in it made her whole face glow.

It was because of him that she'd been hurt, had nearly been—

God, he couldn't even think the word. It had been bad enough earlier, knowing what could've happened, but now, knowing it was because of him? He looked up from the picture and stared across the room. Because of him, Grace could've been killed. He shuddered and shivered.

Because he was human.

.~.

* * *

So there's chapter four! I hope you liked it. Drop me a review and let me know. Teasers for chapter five for all reviewers!


	5. Chapter 5

A huge thank you Raum and to Patricia for all their help, advice, and their endless patience, and to everyone else who has helped this Pennsylvania girl with advice, recommendations, and information on the Olympic Peninsula. Without their help, this fic would not exist.

This story is set in 2012.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

* * *

.~.

Chapter 5

.~.

Thunder boomed like the crack of a gun, and Charlie awoke in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. His heart racing, he told himself it had only been a dream. He covered his eyes with his hand, but he could still see.

Wincing, he pushed himself up and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

He rubbed his face. Three o'clock in the morning, but if he tried to go back to sleep, his nightmares would all be there, waiting for him. He'd learned that well enough over the past weeks. Before he heaved himself up, he breathed in and rolled his shoulders. He grimaced. The pain was always there to varying degrees, but it was always the worst when he woke up.

Across the room on his dresser stood a framed photograph of him holding a squirming bundle wearing a knit blue hat and swaddled in a blanket covered with teddy bears. Between the blanket and the hat, Edward's little baby face looked like a screaming pink raisin. Charlie himself looked mystified, but exuberant. He still felt that when he looked at his son. Edward was the best son any man could ask for. He was Charlie's world.

He hadn't wanted to argue with Edward about that girl again. All arguing with him did was push him farther toward her.

Just like he'd done countless times since Edward was a baby, Charlie crept down the hall and eased his bedroom door open. He was sound asleep, lying on his stomach with his arm hanging off the bed. Charlie was looking at his seventeen-year-old, but in his mind he was also seeing his two-day-old newborn on his first night at home, sleeping with his butt up in the air.

On the floor next to his bed lay a square, black and white photograph. Quietly, Charlie slipped in and picked it up. It was of that girl. She looked like an actress in a period movie. Her hair was up, and she wore a pale colored dress that puddled on the ground around her feet as she knelt beside a flower bed. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. This was the girl who had never turned eighteen. A wicker basket half full of flowers was on the ground beside her, and she held shears in her hand. Her face was angled toward the camera, and she was smiling. A genuine smile. Natural. Half laughing, as if at something someone outside of the camera's range had said. The sun was out, and it cast a long shadow behind her.

It was ironic, seeing her with the sun shining on her, given what she was now.

Charlie sighed and set the picture on Edward's nightstand. She'd been a beauty even then. Any boy that girl batted her eyelashes at would fall at her feet, then or now. There were more pictures, and he flipped through them. They were all of her, but of course he'd known they would be before he'd picked them up. They were all candid, casual pictures. Not what he'd have expected from that time, all stone-faced, stiff as a board people in stiff as a board getups. In one, she and two other girls sat on horseback. All three were in old time riding clothes—the other two in long, black full skirts to their feet, tailored coats, and tall top hats. That girl sat in the middle, wearing riding trousers. The other two sat sidesaddle, but she sat astride. She sat ramrod straight, all smiles again, her chin up, as if she were daring someone to disapprove. He flipped through the stack. The same two girls flanked her in several. In some she was alone. In one, she stood at the bottom of an enormous, winding staircase. She wore a white apron over a dark dress to mid-calf, a white cap and arm band, all bearing a large, bold cross. Charlie rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the next picture. She stood between a man and woman, and he stopped short. The two were obviously her parents, and she and her mother wore striped sashes over their dresses. Something about seeing her with her parents made her seem so very young. Vulnerable. Which was absurd, of course. The girl in the pictures may've been, but not now. Charlie looked at his son sleeping, watching his back rise and fall, listening to him breathe. It wasn't her who was young and vulnerable.

Charlie set the pictures down on the nightstand. He closed the door behind him noiselessly and went to the kitchen. Without turning on the light, he went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. He threw it back, barely coming up for air.

He rubbed his forehead. He needed to not lose it. He needed to keep it together.

His head spun.

He couldn't lose Edward.

He grabbed a second beer and sat at the table. He was so God damned tired, but he'd learned better than to try to sleep again after one of those nightmares. He took a long drink and wiped his mouth. There would only be more, and they would be worse than the first. The nightmares about Edward disappearing with that girl and Charlie never seeing him again were the ones that scared him to the marrow of his bones, but it was the other ones that had him emptying his stomach.

A little boy playing with matchbox cars in a pile of dirt. Charlie's stomach lurched, and he pressed his hand to his mouth, breathing hard and shallow as the memories came at him like knives. That same little boy in a Little League uniform, walking down Forks Ave. with the rest of his team in a parade. That little boy, lying dead on a sidewalk, with bullet holes from Charlie's gun in his chest.

The beers he'd just downed came back up with a vengeance and left Charlie bent over the kitchen sink, heaving and coughing.

"Dad?"

The light flipped on, and Edward came up behind him, yawning loudly. Charlie went cold and turned on the water. One hand on his good shoulder, Edward led him to a chair before getting him a glass.

"Drink this," he said, handing Charlie a glass of ice water. He got a clean dishtowel and ran it under the water, then handed it to Charlie. Feeling ashamed, Charlie wiped his face.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah," Charlie lied. It was his guilt to bear. He couldn't burden Edward with it.

"C'mon. Let's go back to bed."

"You're a—you're a good son, Edward," Charlie said.

Edward looked embarrassed, and Charlie sniffled and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Edward was everything to him. He wanted to tell him that, but it was hard to find the words. He had never been any good at talking about stuff.

.~.

Chewing his lip, Edward stood with his hand on his father's bedroom door for a moment before going back to the kitchen. The clock on the stove said it was three thirty. He sprayed bleach cleaner in the sink and rinsed it out. Two beer cans stood on the counter. He stared at them before dumping them in the recyclables.

.~.

His mind elsewhere, Edward cut the ignition but stayed in his truck. Grace exited her car, across from his, twisting her fingers. For a moment, they locked eyes. She took a step toward him but had to stop as Tyler drove past, splashing water from the puddles left from last night's rain. Edward grabbed his backpack.

"Hey," he said.

"I'm sorry, Edward."

Startled, he fumbled with his backpack, almost dropping it as he'd swung it over his shoulder.

"Why? What happened? What's wrong?"

Grace reassured him. "Nothing's wrong. Well, nothing new. I meant about last night. If I hadn't allowed time to get away from us—"

"It wasn't your fault." Remembering how time had gotten away from them, Edward's face felt hot and he couldn't help but grin. It felt ridiculously good to smile.

"What," Grace asked him, leaning in and touching his stomach, "are you thinking about that's got you blushing like that, Mr. Swan?"

He brushed her hair away from her face. "You."

"Well," she said, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles, "if thinking about me puts a smile like that on your face, think about me all you like."

If it were up to him, he'd think of nothing but her. He played with a strand of her hair, thinking to himself he could spend forever doing nothing else and be perfectly happy.

Well, maybe not _nothing_ else. He smiled wider.

"You two coming in, or are you gonna stand out here all day staring at each other?" Mike called out, laughing as he walked past. Grace dropped her eyes, and Edward glared at the back of his head.

"There is something, though. Isn't there?" she asked. She looked away, then at the ground. "You argued with your father because of me again."

"No—"

"I can hear him."

Edward hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder. "I did try. I just—" He had. But he could've tried harder. He'd just been so pissed off that his father had sent Jake out looking for him.

Was their argument the reason his father had been up in the middle of the night, drinking? The thought had kept him up after he'd gone back to bed. Grace was right. He couldn't keep arguing with his father. With everything that had happened, he had too much on his shoulders.

"You're right, though. I can't argue with him again."

"Has something happened?"

"Like you said, nothing new."

"It's always there, isn't it?" she said. "Like a shadow over us all the time."

He pulled her against his side and he kissed the top of her head. He couldn't give her up, but he couldn't hurt his father either.

And, he admitted to himself almost against his own will, Jake and Billy. However pissed off at them he was, they were like family . . . or so Edward had always thought. How could he look at them the same way again after they'd looked him in the face and lied to him, even if it hadn't been willingly? How could he trust them again?

.~.

Across the table from Charlie sat a pretty blonde. Peggy Keller. Used to be Peggy Burns, back in school. She'd been a Sophomore when he was a Senior. Billy'd had a bit of a thing for her once, but then he'd met Sarah and no other woman existed as far as he'd been concerned. Peggy brushed her hair back off her shoulders and leaned toward him. Her elbow on the table, she held up her hand, palm facing him, and wriggled her fingers.

"Time to show me what you got."

He glanced out the window. Edward would be getting out of school soon. Resigned, Charlie slid his chair closer and put his elbow on the table. Time to get this over with. He pressed his palm against hers.

"C'mon. Push."

He was pushing, dammit. His palm pressed flat against hers, he pushed against her hand. It fucking hurt, but he couldn't make her hand budge.

"Okay. That's enough. Relax."

He fidgeted in his seat and glanced at the clock. Edward should be on his way home by now. Charlie didn't like not being there when he got home, but this had been the only time he could get an appointment. Peggy sat back in her chair, and he waited for her to tell him what he already knew.

"How've you been, Charlie?"

"Super. You?"

She grinned and laughed. "I'm fine."

Charlie nodded. All he wanted was to get out of there and get home, but Peggy's expression turned serious and she leaned forward.

"Have you been doing the exercises I gave you?"

"Yes." She frowned, and if there was one thing a cop knew, it was when someone wasn't buying it. "Trying to."

"Trying to. What's the problem?"

She waited for an answer Charlie didn't know how to give.

"Weakness?" she asked. "Or pain?"

Gruffly, Charlie nodded.

"Both?"

He rubbed his hand over his mouth and nodded again.

"Are you taking the meds—"

"No."

"You need to manage the pain so you can—"

"No pills."

"Charlie, you were shot—"

"No. No damn pills." People got hooked on those pills. They had their lives ruined by those pills. That wasn't happening to him. "No drugs."

.~.

Edward added soap to the bucket as it filled with water and watched bubbles foam up.

Blue sky had broken through the clouds by the end of school. Alice had warned they would, but as she'd promised, the sun had stayed safely concealed. It wouldn't remain so. Grace had left with them after school to go hunting. And Edward had gone home.

He had homework to do, but he couldn't concentrate on it. He dropped a sponge into the bucket and squeezed it in the soapy water. Grace was in northern Oregon, and would be until morning. He didn't like her being so far away. It made him feel antsy. He slapped the sponge on the hood of his truck. Even when they couldn't be together, he'd rather know she was at least nearby.

As he returned the sponge to the bucket, the sun peeked out from the clouds and a horn beeped. Cursing both in his head, he turned as a car parked in front of the driveway. Both surprised and wary to see who was behind the wheel, he straightened up.

"Leah," he said as she closed the door. She looked different. She'd cut her hair. It had always been long, halfway down her back, sleek and beautiful shiny jet black. Now, it was cropped to her jaw. And she was taller, he noticed, and her arms and shoulders more muscular.

"Hey."

Returning to washing his truck, he asked, "Billy send you?"

"My dad."

Edward stiffened, clenching the sponge in his hand.

"Relax," she said, holding up a paper bag, "I come in peace."

"That so?"

"Brought you guys some Clearwater's famous fish fry. He just made up a big batch."

Edward studied her for a moment before relaxing. "Thanks."

"Your dad home?"

"He's at physical therapy."

"How's that going?"

"Good, he says. But slow."

"It'll take time, I'm sure."

"That's what they say."

She held up the bag and motioned toward the house. "Want me to put it in the fridge?"

He nodded. "Please."

A moment later, she returned. From the corner of his eye, Edward watched her cast furtive glances around.

"If you're expecting her to jump out from under the truck or something, you can relax. She's not here."

Her nose crinkled. "We know."

 _We._

Defensive and uneasy, Edward continued washing his truck. That was the sudden muscles and height explained, then.

"So, you're one of them too. Like Jake."

"First girl in the history of the tribe. Yay me."

Edward nodded slowly. Hoping he looked braver than he felt, he picked up the bucket and moved to the passenger side, putting his truck between them. "Was there something else you wanted?"

"Got another sponge?"

Edward stared at her, and she folded her arms.

"What, exactly, do you think I'm gonna do? Throw you in the trunk and take you back to La Push?"

Edward's fingers clutched the sponge. "She'd come after me."

Leah's lips curled, as if the thought pleased her. "That'd be a violation of the treaty."

"Wouldn't be the first, though. Would it?"

"Oh, for—You really think we'd try to kidnap you or something?"

Every fiber of Edward's being wanted to say no, of course he didn't think that, but maybe just a little, he wasn't sure.

"Sponge's in the garage," he said.

He watched her as she went inside, and when she came back out, she carried a second bucket as well. She set it down at the back of the truck.

"No offense," she said, "but you kind of stink of them."

Far from offended, the thought that Grace's scent clung to him made him inordinately happy. Some small part of her was still with him, even if she herself was far away. He brushed the corner of his mouth against his shoulder and breathed in deep, wishing he could smell her himself.

"Truth is, I owe you an apology," Leah said. "And an explanation."

Edward's defenses rose. "Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Because I really am going to throw you in the trunk and kidnap you. She's got you good and turned against us, doesn't she?"

"What do you want, Leah?"

Embarrassed and obviously uncomfortable, she fidgeted with the sponge and shifted her weight.

"Before—before they came back, I mean—I knew you liked me."

Edward felt his jaw drop.

"I gave you a pretty cold shoulder," she said, "and I'm sorry."

"I—" Edward cleared his throat. He wanted to crawl under his truck and hide. His face felt like it was on fire.

"I was sorry then, too. I really was. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Ancient history."

"I was flattered. I really was. You're a great guy, and it was nice. It helped. It really did. After Sam—" Just hearing the name, Edward's hands clenched. "It felt nice knowing there was a guy out there who wanted me. And I would've, I think I would've been happy to say yes to you, if I could've."

"What do you mean, if you could've? Why couldn't you?"

"I'm not free. Not like that."

Edward's eyes narrowed.

"What do you mean, you're not free like that?"

"None of us are. I couldn't risk hurting you. I couldn't risk doing to you what Sam did to me. But I couldn't explain why." Her face turned hard, and she spoke resentfully. "It's all part of the joys of belonging to the pack. Forget about thinking for yourself—you will follow the Alpha's orders, no matter what, no matter how strongly you disagree. You don't get a vote. Forget every having a private thought—forget ever having a private anything. Everyone will know. Forget about even being able to choose who you want to be with." She pressed her hand to her stomach. "Forget about ever having—about everything. You're not your own person anymore. You're tribal property." She dropped the sponge in the bucket. "I should go."

"Leah, wait." Edward followed her to her car.

Her hand on the roof of her car, she closed her eyes before looking at him over her shoulder.

"I've gotten a far better look into the male mind than I ever wanted, Edward. I know just how often you all think about sex."

Wide eyed, Edward stepped backward as she yanked her car door open.

"Try to think with the head on your shoulders and not just the one in your pants."

Edward gaped. Had Jake told the whole damned reservation about him and Grace in the woods?

A horn beeped twice, and he startled. Half in the car already, Leah looked back, and she exhaled in irritation as his father drove up to the house.

"Leah," his father said. The change in him was like magic. All the stress—fear, Edward admitted—melted away. "Good to see you, honey. How're you doing?"

"Just bringing you some of my dad's fish fry."

Edward washed his truck as his father and Leah talked quietly. What was Grace doing? he wondered. How far away was she, exactly? When would she be back? Was she thinking about him?

Had Jake told his dad too?

Did his dad know Leah was one of them too?

He threw soapy water against the side of his truck.

"Stay for dinner?"

Sponge in hand, Edward froze.

"I can't," Leah said. Edward got the hose, listening before turning the water on. "I gotta get back." A moment ago, she'd hadn't been able to get away fast enough. Now, it sounded like leaving was the last thing she wanted to do.

"Your parents won't mind. Call 'em and say you're gonna stay a while. It'll be nice to have some company."

She closed her door.

"Yeah. Okay."

Over his shoulder, Edward watched Leah fallow his father into the house. He rounded the truck and threw the second bucket of water over the hood. He dropped one bucket inside the other, then the sponges and grabbed the hose.

He didn't know whose transformation had been greater on seeing the other, his father's or Leah's.

.~.

Edward entered the house through the door from the garage. He heard crying coming from the kitchen, and it stopped him in his tracks.

"You know you're welcome here any time, honey," his father said in the softest voice Edward had ever heard him use.

Leah sniffled.

"Get a little distance. Get away from it all for a little while."

"I can't. I can't get away from it, least of all here," she waved her hand around the room, "not with her scent all over E—" She checked herself. "Everything."

Edward's shoes and the legs of his jeans had gotten wet, and he went to his room to change before joining them.

And he may've been hiding.

But questions swam in his mind, and before long, he was on his feet and out of his room.

In the kitchen, his father and Leah were sitting at the table. His father looked about to say something, but when Edward walked in, he got up and pretended to be busy about the kitchen. Leah sniffled and cleared her throat.

"Dinner will be ready soon," his father said, checking the crock pot. He looked from him, to Leah, then back to him. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and grabbed a tube of crescent rolls from the refrigerator. "Why don't you two go down and play a game of something? Shoot a little pool. I'll call you when it's ready."

Edward's eyebrows drew together, but Leah wiped her eyes, ducking her head like she was trying to hide it.

"Yeah—sure," he said.

Downstairs, Edward racked up the balls on the table.

"I'm sorry. About what I said," she gestured to the stairs, "outside."

"S'okay."

"Don't blame Jake. He didn't rat you out, but there are no secrets in the pack. What one of us knows. . . ."

Edward set the rack on the table.

"Leah, we're friends, right?"

She nodded.

"If there's something wrong—"

"Nothing's wrong."

He didn't believe her.

"I know things are, strained, between me and all of you guys with me and Grace being together, but my dad was right, you can always come here. You know that, right? If Sam is—"

"It's not Sam's fault."

Edward's teeth clenched. Of course not. Nothing was Sam's fault.

"I know you don't like him, but it wasn't his fault. With Emily, I mean. Not her getting hurt, or . . . or what happened before."

"With you getting hurt, you mean."

She nodded.

Sam was a great guy. Everyone's hero.

"Whatever." He handed her a cue stick. "So, you wanna break?"

"You can shoot first."

Edward picked up the chalk.

Doing the same, Leah tried to smirk, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Because if I shoot first, you won't get a chance to play."

.~.

Outside, the wind was picking up. Edward rolled over. He punched his pillow and folded it in half. A minute later, he rolled onto his back. It was no good. He was wide awake.

He wondered where Grace was. He hated her being so far away. What if she ran into some of the others? Others like that James and Victoria. She'd been in danger once, and he'd had no idea. She could be in danger now, and he'd still have no idea.

Not like it would matter if he did. There wouldn't be a damn thing he could do.

He rolled over, facing the wall. What time was it? He closed his eyes and told himself to go to sleep, to stop worrying. Grace wasn't alone. Not like she'd been with James and Victoria. Either time. She was with Jasper and Alice. Jasper would protect her.

Edward laughed and slid his arm under his pillow. _Jasper would protect her._ His suffragette girlfriend. It probably wasn't a good idea to admit to her that thought had ever crossed his mind. Good thing she couldn't read his mind.

He sighed.

He worried when she was away, but the truth was, if she were in danger and he was standing right next to her, there would still be nothing he could do to protect her. He'd probably put her in more danger. Because he was human.

How soon would she be back?

He tried to distract himself.

Leah. She was one of them, too. Like Jake. Just how many of the kids out on the rez were . . . like that?

What had she meant that she hadn't been free to say yes to him? That she couldn't risk doing to him what Sam had done to her? Grace had told him they all had to follow the Alpha's orders. No matter how strongly they disagreed, they couldn't disobey. It was a physical compulsion. What orders was Sam giving her? His father had told her she was welcome there with them anytime, so she could get away from it all. Was that why her father had sent her to see them? To get her away from Sam?

She'd leapt right to Sam's defense. It wasn't his fault, she'd said. Nothing was ever Sam's fault. Not dumping his girlfriend and breaking her heart to chase after her cousin. Not nearly killing the cousin after he'd gotten her.

Not ordering Jake and Billy to lie to him.

He pressed his palms to his eyes and groaned.

His phone vibrated on his nightstand, and he grabbed it.

Grace's face lit up his screen, and Edward lit up too.

"Hey," he said, sinking down into his bed and feeling instantly better.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" she asked.

"How do you know I wasn't?"

"I can hear you."

"You're back?" Edward sat up.

"Shh," she said. "You'll wake your father."

He looked toward his father's room and huddled over in bed. "Where are you?" he whispered.

"Look out your window."

Edward jumped out of bed, tripping over his shoes lying on the floor, and hurried across his room.

"Are you okay?" Grace asked, laughing.

"Very funny." He pushed his curtains open, and there she stood, leaning against a tree.

"Hi," she said.

Edward leaned against his wall. "Hi." He felt boneless. Instant chillax. "You're back earlier than I thought you'd be."

"Three's a crowd. Now, why aren't you sleeping?"

He shrugged. "Just up."

She paused, then said, "Open your window?"

Edward's mouth went dry. He looked toward his father's room, then toward his bed. His body reacted to the idea of Grace sneaking into his bedroom, and his flannel pajama bottoms didn't hide anything.

Biting his lips, he pushed the window open, sure it was going to squeak and wake his father. Cold air rushed in, and his breath hitched. Grace crossed the yard in the blink of an eye, and before he could exhale, she leapt to his window and slipped into his room.

Grace was in his bedroom.

"Hi," she said.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. She was cold, but the cold felt good, like diving into a cool lake after a long run in the hot sun. Hands roamed, and his heart raced.

"Missed you," she said, tracing the tip of her nose along his jaw.

"Missed you too."

Their hands skimmed over each other, and his head swam. He melted against her. Keeping her in his arms, he stepped back toward his bed. They crossed the room, never parting, and he tripped over his shoes a second time.

"We need to be quiet," she said.

Madly, Edward nodded, reaching for her, pulling her down to his bed.

"Edward, quietly," she warned, one hand against his chest.

"Right." He twisted the hem of her shirt in his hand. Quiet was the last thing he wanted to be.

"You're going to get us caught."

Caught. That was a splash of cold water. If his father heard them. . . .

He covered his face with his hands.

"Quiet, right."

She lay next to him in his narrow bed, and his hand moved down her side, over her ribs, the curve of her waist and hip, her thigh. It traveled back up to her ribs just as slowly. He'd be quiet if it killed him. She traced patters on over his chest. Her fingers moved down his stomach lower, toward the waistband of his pajama bottoms. His breathing sped up, shallow panting breaths. Quiet sucked. It was murder. He wanted to make noise. He wanted to let go. He wanted skin and hands and mouths, hard, fast, and loud.

Her eyebrow arched, she grinned at him and pressed a finger to her lips.

Edward bit his lips and breathed through his nose, trying to keep quiet. She pushed his t-shirt up and rolled him onto his back. Her fingers walked over the bare skin below his bellybutton, and he broke out in goose bumps.

He needed her skin. He needed to see it, to feel it, to taste it.

He flipped them over, reversing their positions. The bed creaked beneath them, and they froze. Her eyes darted toward his door, but returned to him. She smiled and shook her head. He wanted to laugh, but he kept his jaw clenched tight against it.

Lying on top of her, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his mouth sliding over her skin. His hand twisted in the hem of her shirt, dragging it up. He was so hard for her, there couldn't have been a drop of blood left in his veins. Grace arched her back, and he pushed her sweater up over her chest. He cupped one breast with his hand and the other he covered with his mouth. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and his found the clasp in the front of her bra.

Beneath him, she was as smooth and white as marble and as perfect as if she'd been sculpted by a master. Running his hands over her, he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. He picked up where he'd left off, and it thrilled him when she squirmed beneath him. She was so controlled—until her control broke and she arched her back higher. He felt on top of the world knowing he was the one who pushed her over the edge. He flicked his tongue against her nipple, and she gasped. He closed his lips around the pink pebble, and she panted and writhed. Looking up at her, he ran his tongue over her breasts. Her head was thrown back, her arms thrown at her sides. Her hands were clenched into tight fists. Her legs twisted and twitched. She parted them, and they wrapped around him, her foot traveling up and down the back of his calf.

Edward stopped breathing.

He was pressed against her. Could she feel the way he throbbed for her? All he wanted was to thrust against her. He was on the brink as it was. It wouldn't take much.

Her hands lay on the small of his back, and they moved lower over his pajamas. Her thumbs hooked under his waistband, and so slowly Edward thought he'd go insane, she tugged them down. He swallowed and shook, and pushed himself up higher onto his hands. He watched her as she pushed his pants down.

Her eyes were fixed on him, and her lips parted. She looked mesmerized. His breath came in pants as she traced his length. Her touch buckled his elbows, and he collapsed against her. Desperate for more, he rolled onto his side, giving her better access.

Grace lay perfectly still, her eyes fixed on him. She shuddered and exhaled his name on a breath. Edward's heart pounded, and the way she looked at him—hungrily, possessively—made it pound harder. When she ran the back of her fingers along him he buried his face in his pillow. It felt so fucking good. Keeping quiet was nearly impossible. He punched the mattress and bit his lip so hard it hurt.

"Shh," she warned.

He thrust against her fingers. Her touch was light as a feather. He needed more.

"More, Grace. God, please."

He closed his hand around hers and pumped himself twice. He cried out into his pillow as he came so hard his toes curled and he saw spots in the dark behind his closed lids.

"Shhh," Grace warned more urgently.

Edward lay boneless and spent. He was breathless, but panicked, he pushed himself up.

She was looking at the door, and he froze. Oh, God—

"Is he awake?"

She didn't move for a moment but then shook her head.

"He stirred, but he's snoring now."

Edward dropped. He felt lethargic but energized at the same time. Grace lay down next to him, grinning widely.

He scooted closer to her and pushed himself up. There was so much he wanted to do to her. Their first time together, he hadn't been able to do any of them. This time, he wasn't going to miss out. She looked hesitant, but she rolled onto her back. Keeping his eyes on hers, Edward lowered his mouth to her breasts, and he covered every inch of her skin with his lips and tongue. She arched her back, pushing herself up toward him, and her breathing became rugged. She panted his name, and he felt himself begin to grow hard again.

He moved to her neck and jaw, licking and kissing as his hand roamed over her breasts. "Let me touch you," he whispered into her ear, his hand moving to her ribs and stomach.

She fell motionless beside him. His eyes moved greedily down her body, but he kept his hand on her stomach for five beats of his heart before sliding the button of her jeans open. Pushing himself up to his hands and knees over her, he slid the zipper down. He didn't want to miss an inch of skin as it was uncovered. When he slid his hand over her jeans down between her legs, she whimpered. Her breath came hard and fast, and he made the mistake of looking at her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her hands were curled into tight fists and pressed hard to her mouth. She looked as if she were hanging on by a thread. Fuck, he wanted to break that thread. Fuck whimpering. He wanted to make her scream.

He moved his hand over her, on top of her jeans, and her head and shoulders rocked forward. He was fully hard again, and he took himself in one hand as he slid the other inside her jeans.

He felt her cold, smooth skin under his fingers, but then he felt fabric. The denim of her jeans was rough on the top of his fingers, but beneath them was soft and silky, and the same color as her bra.

Edward snapped.

Gripping her jeans, he pulled them down her thighs. Kneeling over her, he licked his lips and covered her with one hand as he stroked himself with the other.

"Look at me," he said.

When she did, Edward lost his breath. Need, want, desire, hunger, thirst. Grace's eyes were dark and heavy lidded. He traced his finger along her skin inside her thigh, along the edge the silky fabric, all the while her eyes stayed on him, unblinking.

Approaching the edge himself, he slid his index finger under the fabric. He shuddered, and Grace hissed. He'd never touched a girl like this before. He'd thought about it enough, and he'd seen his share of online porn, but imagining and watching were no match for the real thing. Touching Grace, his heart could beat itself out. Watching her breathe hard through clenched teeth and cover her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound was nearly his undoing. He pumped himself faster as he slid his finger over skin as slick and as cold as wet ice. He swallowed hard as need and heat coiled inside him. He didn't want to come yet, but he couldn't stop. He fell against her, keeping his lips pressed tight and trying to keep in the scream trying to break free as stars exploded inside his head.

More, he wanted more. He pulled the fabric down her hips and thighs. Grace lay beneath him in his bed, bare for him, and he drank in the sight of her.

He ran his hand up the inside of her thigh and slid his fingertips over her, and her head and shoulders curled forward off the bed. Feeling emboldened by her reaction, Edward moved his hand lower and drew small circles against her. She pulled her lips between her teeth, her head and shoulders rocking up and down. Edward's breathing matched hers. She pressed her closed fist against her mouth and curled in on herself, her arms held close at her sides. Her body trembled, and Edward moved his hand faster, utterly transfixed watching her. This was what Grace looked like, her practiced control falling apart, and it was him who was doing it. Her arms twisted in front of her face, and she made a strangled sound deep in her throat and whimpered before falling back against the mattress.

For several seconds she lay perfectly still and silent. Edward could hear his own heartbeat in the silence. He waited, then ran his finger down her arm.

Not bad for his first time, he thought.

He looked back toward the door, then snuggled down close to her. She curled against him, the top of her head against his chest and her hair tickling his face.

She looked up at him, and they laughed quietly, Grace pressing her finger to her lips but her shoulders shaking.

.~.

* * *

I hit my 100th Fav after the teaser went up on Wednesday! YIPEEYIPEEYIPEEYIPEEYIPEE! A huge THANK YOU to everyone who is reading this and an especially big **THANK YOU** to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed. Teaser to chapter six to all reviewers!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Scores of teenagers crammed themselves into the cafeteria, all of them blathering incessantly. Verbally, mentally. Gray fought a sigh trying to escape. She was being unfair, and she knew it. She laid one hand over the other on top of the table. If she were them . . . Seniors on the eve of graduation, or Juniors, like Edward, on the eve of becoming Seniors . . . at the start of a lifetime of choices and opportunities, she'd be blathering incessantly too.

Edward touched her wrist.

"Have you visited the University of Washington yet?" she asked.

"Yeah. Back in February. Why?"

"It's exciting. Enrolling in college. When can you apply?"

"Um. I think early application starts in September."

She smiled in anticipation. When was the last time she'd looked forward to enrolling in college? Before Edward, when was the last time she'd looked forward to anything? Seeing the world through the eyes of someone who could truly live in that world, truly be a part of it . . . It was thrilling.

He touched her knee under the table, and his fingers slid up her thigh. He kissed her, brief, soft, and perfect. Their lips parted, but their eyes held one another's. As a grin spread across his face, the tips of his ears turned crimson and his scent changed in a way that had become familiar. Gray ducked her head and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. If she could blush, she would be.

"You're incorrigible."

He leaned in close and whispered, "Says the girl who snuck into my room."

Gray covered her mouth. She still couldn't believe she'd really done that. Or what they'd done. Or that they'd gotten away with it. She touched his leg and looked up at him through the hair that had fallen in front of her face. It had been perfection, better than her best dreams. Being with Edward was worth waiting a hundred years for.

"That was rather brazen of me, wasn't it?"

"Very brazen."

The teacher on cafeteria duty reluctantly moved in their direction, and Gray forced herself to sit back. Edward took the hint and did the same, but they glanced at each other and laughed.

A mental voice saying her name caught Gray's attention, and she turned her head.

"It's rather early," she said, disappointed. "Down to you, no doubt."

"What's early?"

Longingly, she glanced at the empty table next to theirs. "Lauren Mallory and Jessica Stanley have worked up the nerve to sit near us." It wouldn't be long now, and the entire school would follow suit. In a very low voice, she explained. "Humans naturally avoid us." She linked their fingers together. "Present company excluded. An innate survival instinct. But as time creates familiarity that instinct begins to fade." She considered a moment, her eyes drifting from the back of one head to the back of another. "It's like children at a public pool, daring each other to be the first to jump from the high dive. It's only a matter of time until, invariably, someone climbs the ladder."

Lauren and Jessica paid for their lunches on the other side of the room. They walked slowly and so closely together their arms pressed together. Next to her, Edward appeared at first to be looking at the two girls, but he wasn't. His body was stiff as a board, and Gray shifted closer to him. Behind them was Ben Cheney. Angela Weber was at his side, and his best friend Austin one step ahead. It was they who had Edward's attention. As slowly as Lauren and Jess were walking, Ben and his friends drew up short behind them, Austin scowling at their backs.

Gray stroked the back of Edward thumb with her own, and he shook himself as if coming out of a trance.

"If they walk that slow, lunch will be over before they get here," he said.

"The view of the pool is very different looking down from the end of the board."

Gently, she squeezed his fingers, and his shoulders dropped. He let go of her hand and picked up his fork, only to drop it a moment later.

"How is he?" he asked. "Ben." He rubbed his temple and looked at her desperately.

"It's hard, of course, but he has good friends."

Edward pushed his lunch away.

"I never know what to say. I want to say something to make everything better, I just. . . ."

Gray ached to pull him into her arms, but they'd already drawn the attention of the teacher trying hard to pretend they didn't exist once in the past few minutes.

"What happened, happened. There are no magical words that will undo it."

"We were always friends, but now, I just, I see him and it's like . . ." He rubbed his arms. "I freeze up."

Helplessly, Gray rubbed his back.

"He doesn't know what to say to you either. He sees you and panics."

Their names coming from two other voices pulled her attention. If ever there were a time she welcomed company less. . . .

"A line is forming at the bottom of the ladder. Mike and Tyler are joining them."

"Great."

Gray poked at the food in front of her in resignation. She hated this part. As the girls reached the table next to them, she grimaced and raised her fork to her mouth. It was like eating wallpaper paste. Edward watched, eyes boggling, as she forced herself to swallow.

"The show must go on. But, God, that's disgusting."

Reaching the lunch counter, Alice and Jasper looked straight ahead.

"Hi, Edward," Lauren said brightly as she sat down, her gaze sliding from him to Gray in excitement. All around the room, heads were turning in their direction. Some were popping up over the crowd, like gophers out of their holes. She was the center of attention, the first kid to jump, and she was loving every second of it. The boys sat at the far side of the table without a word. Jessica sat down and pulled her lunch towards herself. She kept her eyes on the table, but mentally, she was glaring daggers at Gray. For her own part, Gray returned every one of those daggers.

"Hey," Edward said.

"Hello," Gray said.

With that one word, Lauren's spirits soared. In her mind, she was in. Her head filled with ideas of herself, BFFs with Gray and Alice Cullen.

"Have you decided what you are doing your research paper on for history?" Gray asked, cutting her off before she could begin. Lauren was not the most academically minded member of the class.

"Oh, um. Not yet."

"Grace is doing the contribution of women to the war effort during WW1," Edward said proudly.

Mike laughed. "That'll be a short paper. There was none." Having spoken in surprise, without thinking, he began stronger than he finished.

"American military nurses arrived in Europe before American soldiers. By the end of the war, over 21,000 women had enlisted as nurses and over 10,000 served oversees. Hundreds died. In Great Britain, by 1917 workers in munitions factories were primarily women. Hundreds of them died from exposure to TNT due to inadequate safety measures. Women everywhere took on jobs previously held by men—and received a fraction of the pay the men had received. Many began speaking up, becoming among the first to demand equal pay for equal work."

Mike shrank in his seat.

"Grace takes women's history very seriously," Edward said to four blank faces.

Gray basked in the pride in his voice as Jasper and Alice sat across from them.

"Don't encourage her," Jasper said as he opened a can of soda. "You don't have to live with her." Alice shoved him as he raised the can to his mouth, and laughing, he pretended to almost spill it. They were good at these orchestrated moments.

Edward sneaked a meatball off of her plate, grinning at her and winking.

 _Quick study,_ Jasper approved.

Lauren took in Gray's shoes and purse, debating with herself whether they were real designer or knockoffs, and ran her eyes appreciatively over Jasper. Her plans regarding Gray fading fast, new ones replaced them without missing a beat. The two boys imagined themselves with Alice, or on the other side of the room altogether. If Jessica's thoughts could kill, Gray would be six feet under.

A new mental voice drowned out all others, and Gray's stomach dropped.

Jasper's thoughts called her name, and their eyes met. Edward touched her arm, and she leaned toward him. The others noticed her distraction, too.

"I'm sorry," she lied easily. "For a moment I thought I left my curling iron plugged in."

Her excuse satisfied their classmates, and Lauren launched into a story about having done that and her father's reaction that no one paid attention to. Edward talked and joked with the guys, but he watched her surreptitiously, and when she pretended to take a drink, he pressed his foot against hers.

With the end of the lunch period, the volume of the thoughts forcing themselves into her head faded as they were redirected, and the almost two hundred students in the cafeteria rose to their feet as one, conversations shifting to upcoming classes. Gray moved slowly, Edward and her siblings closing around her. It didn't take long for them to fall behind.

Edward slid his hand across her shoulders.

"It looks like you'll be having a dinner guest," she said.

He looked embarrassed and shifted his backpack on shoulder.

"Leah again?"

Leah. The she-wolf. The girl Edward had had feelings for only a short while ago.

"She came over the other day, and my dad invited her to stay for dinner. I think he's worried about her. She's, um, you know, like Jake. She said she's the first girl."

"She is. But, no, it's not her. Ms. Mason has been going to the grocery store on lunch, hoping to run into him again. Today, she did."

Edward winced and covered his eyes.

Alice and Jasper shared a look. Their thoughts were primarily on Tanya, but not exclusively. They were good at layering their thoughts, keeping those they wanted shielded from her in the background, hidden behind others, but slivers slipped through and Gray saw Leah in their minds. Gray was more than familiar with the Quileute girl's thoughts. The girl had known about Edward's feelings for her. They'd been a salve. She'd never returned them, but the wish that she had passed through Edward's father's mind often.

"They talked, and she flirted a bit. Flattered him." Gray scratched her forehead. "She talked about some favorite recipe but how it makes too much for one person, and in the end, she—"

"Is coming to dinner," Edward said, his head in his hands.

"Yes."

"We need to get to class," Jasper said.

Gray nodded and they fell into step, couple by couple, one open, one secret. At the end of the hall, Alice and Jasper turned in one direction and Edward and Gray in the other.

Across the building, Jenny Mason was looking forward to three o'clock and her dinner plans as much as any teenager was to prom.

"Jessica didn't seem as eager to jump off the diving board as Lauren," Edward said, changing the subject. "She didn't say a word."

"Oh, she positively loathes me."

"I'm sure she doesn't loathe you."

Gray tapped her forehead. "Trust me. She does. It has nothing to do with me, though." She arched her eyebrow. "It's because of you."

"Me?"

"Well, _us_. You and she dated?"

Edward choked on thin air.

"Um, yeah. For a little while. But that was a long time ago."

"One year is a long time ago to you, isn't it?"

"Year and a half," Edward mumbled, stressing theadditional time. Beside her, he hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder.

"She's jealous," Gray said quietly. It was agonizing, having the other girl's memories of Edward forced on her. It was harder still, acknowledging out loud that someone else had been there before her. A group of kids rushed passed them, and they stepped into a quiet corner. "You broke up with her?"

"Um, yeah. We weren't, I mean, we never . . . It wasn't, you know, anything serious. We didn't, you know, do . . . stuff."

Gray could see how important it was to Edward that she know that, and it helped. It hadn't been for any lack of willingness on Jessica's part, from the memories Gray saw in her mind. It had been in spite of it. Offended and hurt, Jessica had come up with a reason for his unwillingness. Now though, that idea had been shattered, and she was furious. And jealous. She had been far more interested in Edward than he had been in her.

Gray traced patterns on his forearm. "I know."

.~.

Pulling up in front of the house, Edward racked his brain for what to say to his father. He cut the engine and pinched the bridge of his nose. Should he let on he knew he'd invited his English teacher to dinner? Should he act surprised? Could he pull off acting surprised? He slammed the car door and hitched his backpack over his shoulder. What time was she coming, and what the hell was he supposed to say to her when she got there?

Over the past weeks, Edward had gotten used to his father hovering around the top of the stairs when he got home from school, acting busy, waiting for him, and today was no different. He was vacuuming. As Edward climbed the stairs, they nodded at each other over the noise. Glad of the reprieve, he dropped his things in his room and kicked his shoes off, but then he reconsidered and put them back on. Ms. Mason was his teacher. He crossed the room to look out the window Grace had sneaked in through. The memory had him grinning and his body reacting, but knowing his father had invited his English teacher to dinner squelched that.

He'd have liked to go for a run, to get out of the house, but it was a rest day. He debated a quick run anyway, but tomorrow was his first nine mile day. His muscles needed a rest before that.

He returned to his bed and dropped onto it. Grace's pictures were in a pile on his nightstand, and he looked through them for the hundredth time until the noise from the vacuum stopped and his hand froze. His father's footsteps passed his door, and a moment later, the door of the closet at the end of the hall opened and closed. Footsteps back up the hall, then a moment of silence before a knock came at his door. Edward swallowed.

"Yeah?"

His door opened, and his father stepped into his room. Neither spoke. His father looked at him, at the pictures he was holding, and Edward looked at him. His father had shaved, and he'd gotten a haircut. And the shirt he was wearing looked new.

"I ran into Jenny Wentz—Mason—at the store today."

Jenny. Ms. Mason was his teacher. Her first name wasn't Jenny. It was Ms.

"Oh?"

"We talked a bit."

"What about?"

"Just, stuff."

"Oh."

Edward fiddled with the pictures in his hand.

"She's got a recipe for razor clam chowder. Makes a lot, though, and there's only her. . . ."

Was there any such thing as a recipe for chowder that didn't make a lot? Edward wanted to ask.

His father was fidgeting and sounded like a teenager with a crush. In the photograph of Grace on top, she was wearing a dark colored dress. The sleeves were sheer and lacy. The picture had been taken from the side, and she'd turned her head toward the camera. She had a smile like the Mona Lisa, and he could see a slight glimpse of the curves of her chest.

He cleared his throat. "We like clams."

His father exhaled in relief, and Edward tensed.

"That's just what I said. And she said it must be hard . . ." He gestured toward his shoulder.

"She's going to bring some over? That's nice of her."

"Not exactly. She's bringing all the stuff over and making it here."

Edward set Grace's pictures down.

"My English teacher is coming for dinner."

His father rubbed the back of his neck, and Edward took in the haircut and the new shirt and crumbled inside. His father had occasional guys' nights, but for as long as Edward could remember, it was just the two of them. All of Edward's life, his father's life had been taking care of him.

"No, Dad. It's cool."

"You're sure? Because, if—"

"No. Really. Zero weirdness."

The moment the door closed behind his father, Edward dropped backward, flopping onto his bed. So fucking weird. . . .

.~.

Ms. Mason had a laugh like nails on a chalkboard, and it carried through the house as if broadcast by a bullhorn. Edward closed his trig book and pushed it aside. He counted to ten before reaching for it again and flipping back to his page. He tried to concentrate, but the problems on the page that Grace could make just comprehensible might as well have been written in a different language without her. He tried to focus on his homework, but gave up and dropped his pen on his desk. He rubbed his eyes. He could hear his father laughing too.

He'd propped up one of Grace's photographs on his desk. In it, she was sitting on a bench in a garden, and the sun was shining on her. She was holding a book, and had looked up at the photographer and smiled. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, and she wore a striped dress with a lace on the shoulders. When was the picture taken? he wondered. There were flowers all around her. So, summer. Or maybe spring.

He remembered the day he'd learned the world wasn't what he'd always thought. The picture of Grace, standing next to an injured man's bed. Feeling his chest constrict, knowing the girl in the picture had died and wondering how long after the picture had been taken it had been. Grace's mother had taken the pictures she'd given him. The smile on her face had been for her mother. How long after this picture had been taken had Grace lost her? How long before her own life, that life, had ended?

He pushed his book aside and opened his laptop. He knew very little about the epidemic that had destroyed her world. He should've made a point to learn sooner.

Just typing in the words Spanish Flu brought up several search suggestions. Clicking on one brought up hundreds of thousands of pages. He rubbed his lips and read excerpts of two pages.

"The 1918 flu pandemic, commonly referred to as the Spanish flu, was a category 5 influenza pandemic caused by an unusually severe and deadly Influenza A virus strain of subtype of H1N1."

How cold and clinical. Nothing about the deaths of an entire family. A mother who enjoyed photography. A father who supported a woman's right to vote. Their daughter, who—

Edward cleared his throat.

"CDC researchers and their colleagues successfully reconstructed the influenza virus that caused the 1918-19 flu pandemic, which killed as many as 50 million people worldwide. A report of their work. . . ."

Fifty million people. Edward had had no idea.

The next page he opened was from the National Geographic. At the top of the page was a black and white photograph of an enormous room with rows upon rows of beds. The caption below the picture read,

"The first official cases of the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic were recorded at the U.S. Army's Camp Funston, Kansas, where this emergency influenza ward held treated patients."

There had to be two hundred beds in the room, and every one was occupied.

". . . stories abounded of people waking up sick and dying on their way to work. The symptoms were gruesome: Sufferers would develop a fever and become short of breath. Lack of oxygen meant their faces appeared tinged with blue. Hemorrhages filled the lungs with blood and caused catastrophic vomiting and nosebleeds, with victims drowning in their own fluids."

Another page gave more details on what Grace had suffered.

". . . within hours of feeling the first symptoms of extreme fatigue, fever, and headache, victims would start turning blue . . . patients would cough with such force that some even tore their abdominal muscles. Foamy blood exited from their mouths and noses. A few bled from their ears. The Spanish flu struck so suddenly and severely that many victims died within hours of coming down with their first symptom."

Edward closed his laptop and stared at it blindly. Bleeding from her ears? Foamy blood from her mouth and nose? Her face turning blue? He remembered meeting her out at the lake that day, her reaction to the fish he'd caught, her explanation—she knew what being unable to breathe felt like.

There was a knock on his door, and he turned. The door opened, and his father stuck his head in.

"Dinner's ready." A second later, he asked, "You okay?"

"Fine."

.~.

Eyes on the ground and his mind almost a hundred years ago, Edward followed his father to the kitchen.

"Hello, Edward."

Ms. Mason's voice pulled him from his thoughts. The tablecloth his father only ever used on holidays when they had company over was on the table, and places were set. A few too many seconds passed before he remembered to respond to his teacher.

"This is really nice of you," he said.

"It's nice to have someone to cook for again," she said with a smile for his father.

Edward sat down, part of him wishing the chowder didn't smell as good as it did. It felt like a betrayal to Grace.

"We love seafood," he said. To his father, Edward asked, "Remember that salmon Tanya made?"

His father dropped his spoon, and it clattered against the side of the bowl.

"Who's Tanya?" Ms. Mason asked.

"Grace's—Gray's—cousin. She's staying with them. She made this amazing cedar plank salmon with this pepper honey glaze. It was amazing."

"That was nice of her," Ms. Mason said. "They seem to have a lot of cousins."

"Not really. They're very close because they're all each other has."

.~.

Edward ate with barely a word and rarely lifted his head. Charlie's first thought was that he was more uncomfortable about Jenny's being there than he'd let on, but it wasn't that, he didn't think. His eyebrows were drawn together. Jenny was talking about their high school days, and Charlie commented and laughed on occasion, but his attention was split.

Edward set his spoon down.

"Some more?" Jenny asked him.

"No, thank you, Ms. Mason," He pushed his bowl away.

"I hope you liked it?"

"It was very good. Thank you, again." Edward turned to him. "May I be excused?"

"I picked up a chocolate cake."

"I still have trig."

Charlie nodded, but Edward didn't see. He was already on his feet. Charlie watched him leave. He wanted to talk to him. He wanted Edward to confide in him. He used to.

"He doesn't seem too happy about my being here."

"It's not you. Something's bothering him. But I don't know what."

That wasn't true. Charlie did know. It was something to do with that girl. It had to be.

"It must be hard. Raising a teenager, I mean. Alone."

Charlie hummed, thinking. Reasoning with Edward had gotten nowhere—had reasoning with a seventeen-year-old crazy about a beautiful girl ever gotten anyone anywhere? He had to smarten up.

"He's a good kid. You're very lucky."

"I know I am."

"I always wanted kids. We tried for years. It just . . ." She shrugged and stood up, taking Edward's and her bowls to the dishwasher. "Wasn't meant to be."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

He stood and picked up his bowl, but Jenny took it from him.

"I got it. You relax."

Relax from what? Charlie wanted to ask. His busy day at work?

"I can clean up. You cooked for us."

She winked at him. "I'm glad to. I'd have only had to cook for myself anyway, and it's so much nicer to have someone to cook for."

Closing the dishwasher, she leaned against the counter for a moment before coming back to the table. As she walked, her hips swayed, and Charlie's eyes couldn't help but follow them.

"It's strange," she said as she sat down, "seeing one of my students, out of the classroom." She laughed and leaned back. "It's strange seeing Edward without Gray."

Charlie's feelings must've shown on his face.

"She's a nice girl. But, I know what you mean. They are a little off putting, those three. There's an intensity to them. And I have to admit, the cousin, Jasper, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. But they're well-behaved kids."

Charlie felt his eyebrows raise. Well-behaved kids. In his head, he scoffed. He didn't know which described them worse. That girl had lived during the First World War. Who knew how old any of the others really were.

Jenny laughed again. Her shoulders rose, and her head tipped back. When she laughed, she reminded him of Renee.

"Her test grades aren't great. I was surprised, given her participation in class. They're not bad, I don't mean. But I expected better. She's a bit of a know-it-all. Some kids just don't test well."

Charlie wondered if she really should've told him all that. It was kind of confidential, wasn't it? How a kid was doing in class?

Falling quiet, she sat forward and leaned her elbows on the table. "They're different, though, next to the other kids."

Charlie picked up his coffee. She had no idea.

She rubbed her palms together. "They're different, too. Edward and her, I mean. Compared to all the other couples I've seen as a teacher. I don't mean that as something bad. But they're more aware of each other. They sit in class, one in front of the other, and if one leans to their right, the other leans to their right, too. It's like their each other's shadow."

Yeah, Charlie knew that. They were like damned magnets.

He wanted a beer.

"She's very protective of him."

Charlie swallowed. Yeah, he knew that too. And now he knew why.

"Like, sometimes, after what happened, I'd overhear some of the kids talking about pressing him for details. It was like she knew." Jenny shivered. "The glare she'd give them . . ." She shook her head. "No one ever bothered him about it."

His throat felt tight, and he swallowed his coffee to force it to open.

Jenny laid her hand over his.

"How are you, after what happened, Charlie? Really?"

"I'm f—"

"And please don't tell me you're fine, because anyone with two eyes can tell you're not."

He stood up, the legs of his chair scraping across the floor.

"I'll get us some cake? It's Edward's favorite."

"You can talk to me, you know. I understand what you're going through. You have to talk about it."

He used his left hand getting the plates and opening the drawer, but he made himself use his right to get the silverware. His arm was all pins and needles, and his fingers wouldn't cooperate. He fumbled with the forks and butter knife, jangling them together.

Why did people say that? _I understand._ They didn't have a fucking clue.

Charlie cut them some cake. He picked up a plate in his left hand, but when he looked at the other plate, then at his right hand, he decided against it and made two trips.

In a low voice, Jenny said, "To tell you the truth, I'm a little worried about Ben."

Charlie lowered his fork.

"Why? You don't think he's getting mixed up with that shit too?"

"Oh, no! No, nothing like that."

He sagged in his seat. "Thank God." That was all his poor parents needed, after what his stupid shit of a brother had put them through.

"I didn't mean that." She took a bite, and moved around a couple of crumbs on her plate with her fork. "I just . . . I don't think he's handling it well. He's lost weight, and his work has suffered. Not just in my class, but his other teachers have said the same thing. And some of the kids avoid him now. I don't mean they're not nice to him. I don't think they know what to say, so they stay away from him. And I think he's taking it wrong, like they blame him, or something, so he's closing himself off. Which makes more kids avoid him. He's got a good circle of close friends, but it's small."

Charlie poked at his cake. One life ruined. How many hurt?

Jenny exhaled. "I'm sorry I brought it all up."

"Don't be."

"It must be always there."

"Yeah. It's always there."

* * *

So there we have chapter 6! Thank you for reading. I can't believe we're up to chapter 6 already. I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I hope it was worth the wait. There's some drama coming!

It never made sense to me that the Cullens would all be straight 4.0s. Top students attract attention. I think they'd put themselves at straight Cs. Both too low and too high to be noticed. Also, college scholarships are awarded based on class ranking. Putting themselves at the top of the class knocks kids who need those scholarships out of the running.

Teaser for chapter 7 to all reviewers!


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